Timshel (Thou Mayest)
by Alisha Ashton
Summary: After receiving a call regarding a mysterious girl from Dean's past, the brothers race to help. What they find at the end of the road will change their lives forever. Set early season 2, a couple of months after John's death with flashbacks to Dean's life during Sam's Stanford years. Follows my story 'An Unexpected Guest'.
1. Intro - Hit the Road

Set early season 2, a couple of months after John's death with flashbacks to Dean's life during Sam's Stanford years.

Follows my story 'An Unexpected Guest'. You should really read that one first.

* * *

**Middle of Nowhere...  
July 2006**

Dean groaned and rubbed his chest as they made their way toward the diner exit. He had barely reached the door and his bacon triple-cheeseburger was already repeating on him.

Sam could only shake his head at his brother's misery. It was like watching a lab rat get zapped repeatedly trying to grab a slice of cheese - never making the connection between it's actions and the pain. Dean did the same thing, day in and day out, yet he expected a different result every time.

"_Ooohhh_... I think they poisoned my burger, dude." Dean griped, pulling his keys from his pocket before suppressing an unexpected belch. "I'm serious - I'm not gonna make it. Just take me out back and put me down, Old Yeller style."

"Gladly," Sam huffed.

Despite the dramatics and pained grimace on his face, Dean continued trudging along towards the Impala.

Just to be safe, Sam cast his brother a discrete, appraising glance to gauge the severity of the situation. This would not be the first time Dean's love of bacteria-laden diner food resulted in food poisoning.

Then again, if he was complaining, Sam knew he couldn't be feeling too bad. Dean would whine relentlessly about a paper cut just to annoy him, but had recently managed to hide three broken ribs and a seven inch gash on his leg for over a week. It was still unclear to Sam whether Dean did things like that to maintain macho appearances, or to spare Sam the knowledge that his big brother was, in fact, human and capable of being injured.

"It astounds me that you're still surprised when this happens," Sam commented as he reached the Impala. He went on, watching his slow-moving brother catch up. "I mean, you just all-but-inhaled two pounds of cheap, greasy, undercooked meat -"

"_Oh, God_..." Dean groaned, clamping a hand over his mouth and gagging at the descriptive reminder.

After taking a few steadying breaths, he pointed over at Sam in warning.

"I swear, I will puke all over you if you don't stop talking."

Sam masked the victorious smile that tried to form on his lips with a disapproving scowl.

"And after sucking down that triple-decker E. coli burger with cheese, what did you do? You put the final nail in your coffin with a side of chili fries. I'm telling you, eating lunch with you is like watching a dog raid a refrigerator. Zero self control, man. ZERO."

"You're...the one...zero control..." Dean replied lamely.

Sam arched a brow and smirked.

Dean's features twisted from misery to irritation in response.

"Yeah, well, what are you, my personal dietary Jiminy Cricket now? Where the hell was that voice of reason when I picked up the dessert menu?" He groused before climbing into the car and sinking heavily onto the bench seat.

"As if I don't know better than to stand between you and pie?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean continued to grumble under his breath as he backed out of the parking spot and pulled out onto the main road.

"So, where are we headed, Too Tall? Did you find us a job yet?" He asked gruffly.

In response to the insult, Sam's features twisted into a classic 'bitch face'. Dean grinned and tore his gaze away from the road long enough to savor it. Bitch face was, after all, the ultimate visual confirmation that he had gotten under Sam's skin.

"Okay, first off? If you're gonna call me 'Too Tall', I am most definitely calling you 'Shorty'."

"_Ooh_, somebody's touchy," Dean teased.

"And secondly, no. In the time it took us to walk out to the car, I did not manage to magically stumble onto a hunt."

Dean grunted in reply, muttering something under his breath about how 'freakishly long giraffe legs' should be able to stumble on just about anything.

Sam sighed in annoyance, but noticed that his brother was still massaging his chest, as if that would keep the acid indigestion at bay. Taking mercy on the jerk for whatever reason, Sam popped open the glove compartment and began rifling through its contents.

"You want a Tums?" He offered, hoping that for once his brother would take him up on it.

"Pfft...get out of here with that sissy shit," Dean scoffed.

"Riiiggghhtt," Sam breathed in feigned recollection. "I forgot. 'Manly-men' don't get indigestion."

"Wrong." Dean declared. "Manly-men DO get indigestion. They're just manly enough to sack-up and deal with it, instead of chewing up some fruity little pill. I'm fine."

Sam chuckled at Dean's logic, as well as his miraculous recovery. Funny how the instant Sam wanted to 'Nurse' or 'Mother' him, Dean never failed to suddenly be 'fine.'

He was still shaking his head at his brother, about to close the glove compartment, when something caught his attention.

The screen of one of the numerous cell phones inside was lit up.

Sam frowned, picking it up from the pile and flipping it open.

Dean's eyes were immediately on him.

"Got a call?" He asked hopefully.

"Looks like. There's a new voicemail. Wow - and 5 missed calls just since we went in to eat."

"Which phone?"

Sam held it up for inspection and watched Dean's features tense in recognition. He looked down at the phone curiously, squinting as he thought back to the last time he went on a hunt with their Dad. While all other phones were replaced at regular intervals, Sam amazingly recognized this particular cell from his pre-Stanford days.

"Wasn't this like...Dad's 'other other OTHER' phone?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. That right there's the Bat-phone. Hell, even I didn't rate having that number."

"You changed it to the same password as the others?" Sam asked, waiting for confirmation from Dean before entering the digits and pressing the phone to his ear.

A gruff, exhausted male voice greeted him as the message began.

"_John. It's Frank. Listen...it's about Fiona. Shit started back up again and...well, she found it out the hard way. It ain't good. Countdown's on. When you get this, you get your stubborn ass in your truck and Get. Here. Pronto. And how about you do us all a favor and finally bring that kid of yours this time?_"

The message ended with the telltale smacking clicks of a phone being slammed down onto its receiver.

Brows drawn together, Sam looked over at Dean with the phone still to his ear. "You know a Fiona?"

The phone was rather unceremoniously snatched from his grasp in response to that question.

Sam watched in wide-eyed shock as his brother listened to the message for himself. Without a word, Dean simultaneously closed the phone, slid it into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled a hard U-Turn so fast that, in any car but the Impala, probably would have resulted in an overturned vehicle.

Sam deserved serious credit for managing to stay quiet for the next three minutes. In all fairness, though, he spent those minutes thinking Dean HAD to know an explanation was in order.

Sadly, no. Dean's posture clearly conveyed his willingness to drive in silence indefinitely, leaving Sam to stew in his trademark ever-insatiable curiosity.

And just three minutes in, it was too much to bear.

"So..." he began, but was immediately interrupted when Dean's phone started ringing.

"Man, saved by the cell..." Dean muttered and fished his phone out of his jeans pocket. He glanced at the caller ID and nodded to himself before answering, as if he'd expected the call. "Yeah, Bobby."

Sam held his tongue and tried to gather what little he could from one side of the conversation.

"Uh-huh. I know. Just heard the message on Dad's cell. How is she? Is it serious?" Dean listened for a moment and scowled severely. "Well, make him 'get into it with you'. Stupid, stubborn, son of a... Not_ you!_ Frank. But hey, if the shoe fits..."

Sam could suddenly hear Bobby's voice clearly through the phone - a reply about just where Dean could shove that shoe. He watched his brother suppress a smile.

"Now, now. Don't get your blood all up. Did you tell him about Dad? Uh-huh. Thanks. One less person I gotta tell. All right, let him know we're heading there now. Okay, thanks, Bobby."

Dean closed the phone and sighed, knowing his temporary reprieve was over.

Sure enough, Sam had pounced before his phone was even back in his pocket.

"So...who's Fiona?" Sam asked, though he honestly didn't know why he bothered feigning nonchalance. His brother knew damned well that he was bursting at the seams with questions.

"Frank's sister." Dean answered curtly.

Sam took a calming breath, knowing that he was going to have to wrestle the info out of his brother one crumb at a time.

"Who's Frank?"

"Munitions guy."

"Friend of yours?

"We've met."

"And Fiona?"

"Met her, too."

"Hmm... is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Bite me, Sammy."

"Where are we heading?"

"Nebraska."

"How long till we get there?"

"Be there by morning."

"Driving all night?"

"Yup."

"Wow."

"Wow, _what_?" Dean asked before he could catch himself. He immediately cursed under his breath.

"This Fiona chick must really be something," Sam mused, looking out his window in feigned indifference.

Dean alternated between grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw, steadfastly refusing to take the bait and respond. Sam was fishing for a reaction. Something to go over in his mind with a fine tooth comb and a magnifying glass. To examine from every conceivable angle. To meticulously dissect with that big, fat, stupid, lawyer-ish brain of his.

Dean's only defense against Sam when he got like this was to stay as tight-lipped as possible. It occurred to him suddenly that his tactics for handling curious-Sam were exactly the same as his tactics for surviving police interrogations.

The corner of his mouth turned upward at that.

Unfortunately, his little brother had a lifetime of experience interrogating him... and it was a long drive to Nebraska.

"How'd you two...'meet'?"

"Dad."

"He introduced you?"

"Yup."

"When did you two see each other last?"

"About two years ago."

"While I was at Stanford?"

"Since that's where you were two years ago, YES, dumb ass."

"What's she like?"

"What?" Dean asked in surprise, somehow thrown by the seemingly simple question.

"What's she like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Fiona. Describe her. What's. She. Like?"

"I don't know, man... Like a chick."

Dean's voice had been a telltale half-an-octave too high for that response. Sam's eyes narrowed suspiciously on his suddenly defensive posture. He noted the way his brother checked his side-view mirror for no apparent reason, the way he shifted guiltily in his seat.

"Mmm-hmm." Sam said knowingly and grinned as if he'd just solved a puzzle.

"'Mmm-hmm', _WHAT_, Sammy?" Dean growled in frustration. He was pretty sure he hadn't given his brother anything to work with.

"I'm thinking love interest," Sam taunted in his most annoying little brother tone.

"Wow...I'm flattered, really, but I don't swing that way. Besides, that's incest, dude."

"Shut up," Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. This Fiona 'chick'. Love interest, right? If she wasn't anything to you, you wouldn't be so evasive. If she was a standard one-night-stand, you'd be tormenting me with details of your sex-capades right now. Buuuuttt... if you're in LOVE with this girl..."

"That's it. No more Lifetime movies for you, Samantha," Dean grumbled angrily.

Sam laughed in amazement and turned to face Dean. "Holy shit, you really are in love with this girl!"

"What?! No, I'm most definitely not." Dean assured.

Sam frowned in confusion, sensing that his brother was actually telling the truth. "Then what is it? She's clearly significant. What am I missing here?"

Dean smirked. "Now why would I answer that question when not-knowing just might make your head explode?"

"Because you really want me to have this out of my system before I meet her."

Dean glanced over at Sam, initially not catching the intended threat. He scowled when he caught on.

"Dude. No."

"What? You wouldn't prefer it if I hound HER for details about your relationship?" Sam taunted, but was completely caught off guard when his words inadvertently pushed all of Dean's big red buttons.

"I said NO. You will NOT bother her about anything, do you hear me?" Dean snapped and pointed at Sam in warning.

The finality of his tone bore uncanny resemblance to their father.

Dean's 'I am not f-ing around' face was firmly in place.

Sam was positively gobsmacked.

His mouth hung open uselessly as he stared at his brother.

Whatever he was missing, whatever the explanation, Dean was as protective of this girl as he was of...well, _SAM_. He had seen Dean level that very same look of warning at countless people in his defense over the years.

"Oh my God... Dean?"

His brother stubbornly stared at the road ahead, his mouth forming a tight line.

"_Dean?_" Sam asked again, this time breaking out the vulnerable, pleading little brother voice.

As expected, Dean sighed in defeat. 27 years old and he still had no defense against this. It was just plain embarrassing.

"What, Sammy?"

"Who _is_ this girl?"


	2. Echoes of the Past

**Middle of Nowhere...**  
**July 2006**

"Who _is_ this girl_?_" Sam asked.

Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

The answer wasn't a simple one.

He'd give Sam a response - just enough information to (hopefully) stop any more questions. Considering that they were about to see Fiona the following morning, he had no choice other than to share at least that much.

But the memories of who she was _to_ Dean? He was keeping those to himself.

He smiled lightly as he recalled their time together almost 2 years prior...

* * *

**Ainsworth, Nebraska  
August 2004 **

Dean busied himself memorizing the layout of the expansive building around him. His father was standing 20 feet away, speaking in hushed tones with a man Dean assumed must be 'Mitch'. That was, after all, the name of the guy he was supposed to be here to meet.

The past few weeks had involved several stops of this nature. His father was introducing him to many of his most private and reclusive (which often translated to weird) contacts. By this time next month, Dean would be primarily out on solo hunts. People needed to recognize him when he wasn't standing behind the imposing form of his father.

But this stop on the introduction tour was different. Instead of the standard meet-and-greet of 'this is my son' and 'this is the guy to see for (insert spells, guns, books, documents, etc. here),' Dean had been ignored since their arrival. John had been intercepted almost as soon as he climbed out of his truck, leaving Dean to stand beside the Impala and wait. Whatever was going on, it had his father's undivided attention.

Dean was used to this. His father often left him standing nearby while he had long, drawn-out conversations just out of earshot. And thanks to his father's personal brand of Marine/hunter parenting, Dean always used the idle time to hone and perfect one skill or another.

Sometimes it was his hearing, but the intended-to-be-private conversations were rarely interesting enough to reward his efforts to listen in. Other times, he planned out entire fights in his mind - every movement, punch, kick, roll, dodge - as detailed as it would be if he were actually sparring. He wondered whether Sammy still sparred with him in his mind, too. And if his little brother realized just how often he got his ass kicked by Dean while he was on the other side of the country.

The skills being worked on today were spacial perception, navigation, and tactical advantage. Dean had already laid out a detailed map of this section of the building in his mind, as well as a hypothetical map of the rest of the complex based on what he'd seen from the outside. He carefully selected the most strategic position to withdraw to in an attack. Once he finished those steps, he began running drills. His mind played out a multitude of battle scenarios. Each time he completed one, he adjusted the details and started over. Upping the level of threat, factoring in the presence or absence of civilians, changing which weapons and ammunitions were on hand...

As usual, he gave no outward indication of the thoughts racing through his mind. To an onlooker, he would just appear bored. Anyone who didn't know him (which was almost everyone other than his father and Sam) would believe Dean to be as simple and unintelligent as he portrayed himself.

Without a word to him, his father and maybe-Mitch suddenly turned and walked away. As if pulled by an invisible rope tethering him to his father, Dean's feet were immediately moving to follow. It had been engrained in him since he was four years old: 'stay close' unless ordered otherwise. That meant he had better keep his ass within twenty feet of his Dad... or else said-ass would be too sore to sit on for a week. As an adult, Dean agreed that 20 feet was a good distance. Far enough away to afford some measure of privacy, but close enough to help or be helped if something posed a danger to one of them.

Unfortunately, the act of following his father was so instinctual that he only noted he was doing it when the office door was abruptly closed in his face. He scowled at the peeling paint and aged wood that now stood mere inches from his nose.

"Or I could just wait out here. That's fine, too," he snarked to himself.

Rolling his eyes and jamming his hands in his pockets, he turned and made his way back toward the center of the massive warehouse.

He took the time now to study the insane amount of wards and sigils scrawled across the walls and ceilings. Some painted, some carved, most meaning nothing to him, but each one obviously applied with great care.

His father had given him the brief history of Mitch during the drive. The abridged version went something like this:

Mitch's Dad was once a badass hunter, but in doing his job, he'd pissed off the wrong witch. And not just any witch, either - this one was old-world and majorly bad news. Whatever he had done, the witch felt that his offense warranted punishment against his whole family, future generations included. To this day, every member of the Davies' family was cursed.

They were kinda like walking lightening rods for the paranormal. Catnip for all manner of beasties. To make matters worse, the fewer members there were in the family, the stronger the curse became. Each time it successfully knocked off one of them, the remaining members were even further up shit creek without a paddle.

The building that Dean was currently surveying was the only thing keeping what was left of their family alive. In its heyday, this place had been a factory of some sort. But some time after WWII, it was abandoned. It had changed hands several times before it was purchased to become Davies' home-base, a place for the family to retreat to when things got too bad. For forty years, they had been diligently applying every kind of ward known-to and forgotten-by man.

As the years had passed and the family grew smaller - both by natural and supernatural causes - the curse reached a level where it was no longer safe for the surviving Davies' to venture outside. They now relied on (heavily scrutinized) deliveries for food and day-to-day items, and drop-offs from a trusted few hunters for all of their other supplies.

These chilly masonry walls contained the only location Dean had ever heard his father dub 'probably safe.' Which, in John-speak, translated to 'Actually completely safe, but you can never let your guard down, son.'

With that in mind, Dean was just as suspicious as ever when a noise drew his attention.

He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder toward a catwalk that had previously been empty.

A girl was seated on the metal grating overhead now, hands gripping the rail in front of her chest, legs dangling over the edge as she watched him intently. His brow arched high in interest as he slowly turned to face her. Loose blonde curls cascaded over her bare shoulders. Bare-feet, dusty from the cement floors, swung slowly back and forth.

She was beautiful, but even at this distance, he could tell she was jail-bait - at least a year shy of legal.

_Damn_.

Even still, her dusty white handkerchief dress hung down between her knees, the material unintentionally bunched between her thighs in a way that was entirely too inviting.

"Hi," he called up to her and flashed his most charming grin.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and waved.

"You're the daughter. Um...Fiona, right?" He tried, recalling what his father had told him about the remaining family members.

The girl nodded.

_Double damn_. If she was Fiona, she was 16.

He pressed his hand to his chest in introduction. "Dean Winchester. John's son."

"I know," she answered and stared at him as if he was crazy for introducing himself.

"Mind if I join you up there?" Inclining his head in the direction of the office, he added. "I, uh, didn't exactly rate an invite to the big boys' club."

"Okay," she answered, but looked more than a little nervous at the idea.

He climbed the metal stairs slowly, getting the sense that he might spook her if he moved too quickly. Her large, amber eyes followed his every movement. Watching her expression carefully for any hint of panic, he took a seat several feet away and matched her position, dangling his legs over the edge.

They sat together in silence for a long moment.

As he watched her swaying feet out of the corner of his eye, he noticed scarring around each of her ankles in the telltale shape of restraints. The scars were jagged and rough. He winced, knowing that, whatever had happened, she'd put up a hell of a fight trying to get free. A stolen glance at her wrists revealed the presence of matching scars.

A walled-up and carefully guarded memory in the back of his mind stirred, trying to surface, telling him that he was missing something... That there was something incredibly familiar about this quiet, blonde girl... That there were pieces to a puzzle piling up in front of him, and if he'd just take the time to assemble them, he'd realize something important.

He didn't dwell on the feeling. With the amount of girls he'd known over the years, there were bound to be similarities between some of them.

He glanced past her, to a door that now stood open. When it had been closed, he had pegged the space for the old manager's office. It had windows with thick blinds on three sides. All of them overlooked the warehouse space below, so it would have allowed a supervisor to oversee production. But now that he could see inside, he realized the space had an entirely different purpose for the Davies' family. From what he could see, the interior was thickly carpeted and well furnished. It looked homey - light and airy and cleaner than any of the motels he'd ever lived in.

"That your bedroom over there?" He asked, pointing in the direction of the door.

She glanced at him quizzically, as if wondering why he would ask that.

Replaying the question in his mind, he realized it sounded like a lead-in to a pickup line. Before she had to think of a reply, he spoke up.

"_Wow_. And now that I've asked that aloud, I can hear how creepy it sounded." He declared and she laughed lightly. He smirked as he explained. "I'm just saying, I get it. Prime spot. Hell, if I was living here, that's the room I'd go for."

She nodded, but returned her focus to the Impala off in the distance.

Dean rolled his eyes. He never had a hard time starting a conversation with chicks. Hell, they usually fell all over themselves trying to get his attention. But this girl seemed content to avoid eye contact and remain damned near mute. She was seriously throwing off his game here.

"Good vantage point," he commented, grasping for something to break the ice and get her talking. "Is this where you sit when people come to see your Dad?"

She nodded, but when he turned to look directly at her, she blushed right to the tips of her ears and averted her eyes.

Dean's brows rose in surprised amusement. Okay, so not mute. Was she really that shy? Was it flustering her this much just to speak to him?

He stayed silent and kept watching her, hoping that she would realize he expected a verbal response to his question.

A moment later, she finally forced herself to speak. It quickly became apparent that, oh yes, she really was that shy. It looked like it took all of her strength just to get the words out and eye contact was nonexistent.

"Yes. I can see them from up here, but I'm far enough away to be safe. I'm not allowed to talk to people that come here. _Especially_ not hunters. I've always been allowed to talk to John, though."

"And what? I'm his son, so I get a free pass for you to talk to me?" Dean teased.

She looked at him in confusion then, actually meeting his gaze head-on for the first time.

"Of course I'm allowed to talk to you," she stated as if it was a no-brainer.

Dean frowned at the way she stressed the 'of course' in that sentence. It was like she expected him to know something, but he was clearly missing it.

Not knowing how to respond, he went on.

"So...you're stuck here now, huh? Do you ever get to go out anymore? Like, at all?"

"Out?" She repeated in surprise and shook her head, laughing as if the idea was completely preposterous. "No, no, no. Never. It's not safe."

Getting the feeling that he was not going to like the answer, he asked, "Just how long have you been in here?"

"Um..." she looked up at the ceiling.

He caught himself studying her delicate features while she thought. The way the light made her golden hair shimmer. The flawless olive complexion of her skin. The amber of her large eyes - so bright they seemed to be lit from within. The way she held her full bottom lip between her teeth...

He swallowed hard.

The girl was freaking _gorgeous_. 16 or not, she was a stunner, and she was clearly gonna keep right on getting hotter with age. She was jail-bait today, but he decided he was damned sure coming back here as soon as she was legal.

_Only let people in for deliveries, huh? Then you can call me Fed-Sex, sweetheart, for when you absolutely need to get it overnight... _

He smirked at the bad 70s porn aspect of that plan as his eyes continued roving unhurriedly over her form.

"About nine years now, I guess," she finally replied, jarring him from his thoughts.

His eyes widened in astonishment.

"_Nine years?_" He repeated automatically. "Nine-? _Really_? Wow."

"It wasn't always so dangerous," she insisted and averted her eyes.

He watched as she crossed an arm over her chest and clutched her other shoulder in an awkward, fidgety sort of way. The action betrayed her level of discomfort - as if she was fighting the urge to wrap her arms around herself and just turn inward. But then, nine years as a hermit was bound to do that to a person, he supposed.

"We used to be able to live in a regular house. I even went to school like a normal kid."

"So, what changed nine years ago?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Her face fell. "You mean...you really don't remember?"

Her tone was so genuinely disappointed and borderline hurt that it caught Dean by complete surprise. Out of a habit born of years of sleeping around, he quickly did the math. This was not the first time a girl had asked him that question in that tone.

Thankfully, nine years prior he had been 16 and Fiona would have been seven.

Relief washed over him that this wasn't another forgotten one-nighter.

"I remember nine years ago just fine, darlin'," he assured with a laugh. "What am I supposed to be remembering?"

"Sorry... _Sorry_," she repeated and put her hand over her forehead in embarrassment. "God, I should've realized you wouldn't recognize me. I was so young back then and besides, I wasn't even able to talk that night. Here I am, trying to find a way to possibly say thank you when you have no clue who I even am and-" she rambled.

"Hey, it's okay. Just... How about giving me a hint, huh?" Dean cut in.

He couldn't help but smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed. There was an endearing quality to her embarrassment.

"Oh, here!" She said, suddenly remembering something. She turned and picked up a small bundle and held it out to him. "You'll probably recognize this."

Dean accepted the folded up t-shirt as she handed it to him. He looked down at it in confusion for a second before realizing what it was.

"Holy shit, my Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt!" He laughed in amazement as he shook it out.

This thing had been a prized possession at one point in his life. A vintage treasure found at a thrift shop in some backwater town. The threads were worn in just right, the logo on the front faded to perfection. It had once fit like a second skin.

"_Man_, I haven't seen this thing since..." He trailed off.

His eyes widened in surprise and he focused on Fiona's face in sudden recognition.

The memory played out in his mind in vivid detail.

_His father walking through the door in the middle of the night carrying a mud and blood covered little girl. His father then heading right back out the door with no explanation, leaving the girl in his care. She'd been wounded, dirty, starving, exhausted, and terrified. He'd been a teenager with no idea how to care for a little girl - especially one so clearly traumatized. Somehow they made it through that night. She didn't utter a single word to him or Sammy the entire time, but by the end of it, she was clean, fed, bandaged up, wearing his t-shirt and Sammy's PJ pants while curled up on him on the couch, sound asleep. His Dad had come back the next morning. Without a word to Dean, he'd picked her up, carried her out to the car, and just as quickly as she came, she was gone. Dean had never been given any information about her. He never knew who she was or what had happened to her. _

"Wait, you're...? That was **_you_**?" He asked in disbelief.

But she'd been just a kid! And now, she was...

Shit, was he really that old? When the hell had that happened? And had he seriously just been checking out that little girl?

His mind recoiled in horror at the fact that, _oh yes_, he most certainly had been - corny mental pick-up lines and everything.

Granted, she damned sure wasn't little anymore. I mean, nine years and a healthy dose of hormones had done a body GOOD.

But still... Remembering her falling asleep on him as a seven year old was as effective as an ice bath at cooling his earlier thoughts. Was 25 too early to be considered a dirty old man?

"That was me," she confirmed and gave him a sweet smile. "I never got to say thank you. I never got to say anything, actually. I didn't know you were coming here. You caught me by surprise. I've been sitting here this whole time trying to come up with something to say."

"What...?" Dean began, but trailed off.

He wanted an explanation. No, he needed and _deserved_ a damned explanation and his father should have been the one to give it almost a decade prior. But he realized that it might be too tough for her to talk about, even after all this time.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I mean... My Dad never explained what happened that night. All I know is you showed up, got cleaned up, patched up, and were right back out the door."

She frowned deeply at his summation of that night.

"You make it sound like nothing. But it was so important to me," she insisted, sounding more than a little hurt. "After everything that happened, you were like an angel."

Dean's eyes widened in response before he grinned.

Her cheeks immediately turned a lovely shade of scarlet.

"An _angel_, huh?"

"Sorry! That sounded so lame, right?"

"Now, I've been called a lot of things in my time-"

"I just mean-"

"Devilishly handsome. _Divine_, sure. But an angel?"

"Never mind!" She huffed.

Dean chuckled at how flustered she'd become.

She fought a timid smile and glanced over at him. "So, John really never told you anything?"

_Story of my life_, he thought.

"Nope, nada," he said with a smile that just didn't manage to touch his eyes.

"Oh. Um..." She was tucking her hair behind her ear again, and he noted it as a nervous habit.

It took her a moment to find the least painful way to sum things up.

"Well... back then, a group of hunters had been trying to track something, but they weren't having any luck. One of them knew my family and realized that any one of us would make great bait."

Dean's features immediately went stone cold in response to that revelation. He had always assumed it was a monster of some sort that hurt her. But people? And not just people, _hunters_?

"See, every time one of us dies, the curse gets stronger."

"Right, I heard about that."

"My uncle was in the hospital dying of cancer when they grabbed me. They... um..." She let go of the railing and rested her hands between her knees, effectively hiding her scarred wrists with the bunched up material of her dress. She wrung her hands as her eyes teared up, but after clearing her throat, somehow managed to stave off the emotion. "They were not nice people," she finally offered with a weak smile.

Maybe he hadn't really needed to hear this, Dean realized. Because now he was seeing red and it was a decade too late to split any skulls in retaliation. His vision came back into focus when she continued.

"My uncle died a few days later, and they finally took me out of the room I'd been in. They drove out me out to the middle of a forest. I heard them bragging to someone about how they had brought just the thing to help. When they pulled me out of their truck, I saw your Dad for the first time."

Dean watched the way she smiled at the memory and couldn't help but smile himself. "I can imagine the look on his face. Hell, I know what my reaction would've been."

"He got really still for a few seconds. Rigid and scary-calm, you know? I remember being way more afraid of him than I was of those other guys. They were all really proud of themselves, trying to tell him about my family's curse and how it'd be great to use me on future hunts, but he just kept staring at me." She paused and shook her head. "He didn't say anything to me, not a single word. But he gave me this look. Somehow it let me know he wasn't like them at all. He smiled and told them they did good, but I could tell he didn't mean it.

"They set up camp and... made sure I couldn't get away..." She clearly didn't want to say 'chained me up' or 'caged me' or put any words to whatever had been done to restrain her. Much like she had skimmed over 'the room' they'd kept her in and the details of her initial abduction.

Dean nodded his understanding of what wasn't being said.

She gave him an appreciative smile for his patience, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"It was about an hour later when I heard the first shots. Everyone started screaming and running. I could hear it...whatever it was...growling...getting closer. I don't know if your Dad let that monster take care of the other hunters, or took care of some of them himself, or just used the attack as a distraction. However he did it, next thing I knew, he was letting me loose and picking me up. He told me to keep my eyes closed, thank God. I'm so glad I didn't see the thing that was after me. Just hearing your Dad kill it was bad enough."

She got quiet for a minute, her expression haunted as she undoubtedly recalled that night in frightening detail.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, and gave her hand a quick, gentle squeeze. He waited for her to meet his eyes and gave her a smile. "You good?"

She nodded a bit choppily.

"So, my Dad got you outta there after that?" He pressed, wanting her to get past the worst parts.

"Yeah. Well, he tried to, anyway. When he was carrying me to the car, the last two hunters caught us. One of them pointed a gun at me and made your Dad put me down. Then they started arguing about whether to kill us both, or just me, or just him. But John was just watching that gun the whole time. I swear, it seemed like the gun had only moved away from me by an _inch_..."

She looked down at the Impala and cleared her throat.

"I, um... I didn't have my eyes closed when your Dad reacted."

She chose not to elaborate.

Thinking back to the condition she'd been in when Dean met her that night, he recalled she'd been spattered with a whole lot of someone else's blood. And she'd been pretty eager for Dean to keep his gun handy while he was protecting her.

"I don't know why anyone would be dumb enough to ever mess with him," she said with wide-eyes.

Dean's chest swelled with that old familiar my-Dad's-a-total-badass pride.

"You got me there," he agreed. "Some people just have a death wish, I guess. I think the Winchester family motto is something like, 'If you're gonna knock us down, you'd better be damned sure we can't get back up'."

"I'm sure those hunters wished they'd been given that warning," she assured with a smile. "After that, your Dad loaded me in the car and took me to where you were staying. When he left me with you, he went back to make sure all of the hunters were taken care of. The rest, you know."

She stopped and thought about that for a second before amending that statement.

"Well, no. That's not right. You don't know all of it. You don't know that I was really sad when I woke up in the car with your Dad again. I couldn't believe he didn't wake me up so I could say goodbye. I never got to say anything to you. To thank you for being so kind to me when I had been through so much. I was a terrified kid you knew nothing about and you took care of me. You made me feel safe. It meant everything."

"Ah, no big deal," Dean responded with his go-to cocky smile, eager to get the spotlight off of himself.

But his jaw flexed with restrained emotion as he averted his eyes. Hearing the 'thank you's was always tough for him for some reason. Especially when they were so heartfelt. In his mind, receiving any kind of praise for what they did was unnecessary and actually sorta cheapened things. He'd spent years convincing himself that it wasn't brave or heroic or kind to do things when you were getting something in return.

"It was a _very_ big deal," she assured gently. "If I had come straight here after all of that, I don't know if I ever would have recovered. Your Dad may have been the one that saved my life, and my Dad may have been the one to keep me safe here since then, but you're the only one who ever helped me _heal_."

He hadn't noticed she was moving until he felt her kiss on his cheek. He turned to look at her in surprise. She still moved as silently as a ghost - that hadn't changed since she was a child. He found himself able to stare into those bright amber eyes of hers up-close for several seconds.

"Thank you, Dean," she said softly and sincerely.

There was something stuck in his throat suddenly and he struggled to swallow past it. It definitely wasn't a lump. He was in no way choked up.

She didn't back away immediately, despite the way her shyness made her visibly tremble at being so close. It was as if she had reserved just enough courage to thank him and was determined to get through this.

"Any time," he finally answered with a warm smile.

When she did sit back, he noted that she remained considerably closer to him than she had been before.

A shrill whistle echoed through the warehouse and startled them both.

Dean spun his head around. Off in the distance, he could see his father exiting the office.

"Looks like meeting's adjourned," Dean observed, clearing his throat of any lingering emotion.

"I'd better get down there."

"Oh, um, okay," she said, tucking that ever-loose section of hair back behind her ear again.

She forced a smile, but her eyes clearly reflected sadness.

"I won't leave without saying goodbye," he assured and waited for her to meet his eyes before adding, "I promise."

Her smile instantly warmed and she nodded. "Okay."

He turned to walk away, muttering '_midget_' under his breath just loud enough for her to catch it.

Fiona laughed and rested her arms on the railing again, content to watch him go.

* * *

**A/N: **Thoughts? Feels? Hate it? Love it? Want more? Let me know! :)


	3. Crisis of Conscience

**Ainsworth, Nebraska  
****August 2004**

The walk across the vast expanse of the warehouse took a couple of minutes. Dean found himself smiling and glancing back over his shoulder more than once, knowing he was being watched. He felt a little lighter in the shoulders - a weight he carried for so many years had lifted now that he had seen Fiona again.

When he finally reached his father, John was carefully selecting items from the trunk and placing them into a box on the floor.

"Hey," Dean greeted, eying the items curiously. "What's all this?"

"Grab the verbena oil from the backseat." John instructed without looking up from the bag he was currently rooting through.

"Verbena? We working a spell?" Dean asked upon retrieving the oil.

"Research finally turned up something on their curse. Apparently, they were just waiting for us to get here with that book and the supplies from Bobby."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "Great. So, there's a way we can actually help these people?"

"Not 'we'," John corrected as he stood up straight. "_You_, Dean. You're gonna help them with a spell. If it works, curse'll be gone. All of them'll be safe, what's left of the family, one fell-swoop. Can I count on you for this?"

"Yes, sir," he answered eagerly. "Of course. What can I do?"

John chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering flatly, "The daughter."

Dean's brows drew together in confusion. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn his father was fighting to keep a straight face.

"I'm sorry, what?" Dean asked.

John turned toward him, and Dean was now certain he could see the hint of a smile on his father's lips.

"You asked me a question," John reminded. "I gave you your answer."

With brows still furrowed and mouth puckered in preparation for another '_What?_', Dean replayed the question and answer in his mind.

John could tell the exact instant when it finally clicked. Dean's face went slack in realization and perhaps a touch of denial.

"You want me to...?" Dean trailed off, his lips moving uselessly before he found his voice again. "...'_DO_' the daughter? As in...?"

"As in the kinda doin' you claim to excel at, son," John teased, clapping Dean on the back before closing the trunk of the Impala.

"Uh... not to point out the hole in this plan, but she's still a kid," Dean said.

"That's a stretch," John declared, eying his son incredulously. "She ain't built like no kid and she's damned near 17. As I recall, you considered yourself an adult at that age. Hell, you'd already tagged half the pretty diner waitresses south of the Mason-Dixon line by then."

"Yeah, but... That was different. _I_ was different," Dean insisted.

John arched a brow and turned to face his son fully.

Dean shifted anxiously in response.

Squaring his shoulders determinedly, John studied his son's expression, trying to decipher what was going through his mind in that moment.

"Ain't you the same kid that begged me to stay in Wilkes Barre an extra week till that cheerleader turned 18? That was just last year. What the hell's different this time?"

Dean shrugged self-consciously and avoided his father's gaze. "I don't know. I guess it's just... I remember helping her when she was little."

John closed his eyes and sighed wearily at that. He had really hoped his son wouldn't make that connection. That maybe the girl wouldn't remember him. It certainly would have made this easier.

"It makes it weird," Dean said. "And besides, she's so innocent."

John gave a humorless laugh before muttering, "Oh, you're definitely right about that."

"Sir?" Dean asked, but he had heard enough to start the wheels in motion.

Why would having sex be part of a spell, anyway? The only time someone's sex life mattered to a spell was when...

Cue the 18-car-pileup in Dean's head.

"She's a freaking VIRGIN?" He whispered angrily.

But really? No _shit_ she was a 'freaking virgin'. She'd been locked up, sheltered from the outside world since she was seven years old.

John stiffened at his son's insubordinate tone, but somehow managed to stop himself from voicing a rebuke. Instead, he inclined his head in response. He supposed he could allow a minor outburst, given the circumstances.

The color drained from Dean's face as he recalled the nervous smile on Fiona's seven year old face... patching up the wound on her side... carrying her around the kitchen while he made something for her to eat. His mind was having an incredibly hard time switching gears from '_protect little kid_' to '_screw same little kid now that she's a virginal teen_'.

Suddenly nauseated, he leaned forward, put his hands on his knees, and took a few steadying breaths. A familiar war was raging in his head between his conscience, what was best for the person he was trying to help, and his unwillingness to disobey an order from his father.

"_Oh God_. You're being serious with me right now. You really want me to nail this wide-eyed, 16 year old virgin?"

Prior leniency forgotten, John glared at his son in disbelief.

"To save the girl and what little's left of her family from a lifetime of hiding and/or brutal deaths? **Yes**, Dean. That's _exactly_ what I want you to do!" He replied harshly. "This isn't for my own amusement, you know."

If there was one sure-fire way to get on John's bad side, it was to question his orders or motives. If he had decided something was necessary, he sure as hell had already considered all the options. He didn't need to explain himself. _Least of all_ to his sons. It was the reason he and Sam never saw eye to eye. Dean, on the other hand, rarely ever gave him this type of grief.

But this time, Dean was digging in his heels.

He glared at his father as he stood upright. For a moment when their eyes met, John was unsure of whether Dean was going to faint or give his best effort to knock his old man on his ass.

"And this isn't some sexed-up cheerleader looking for love in all the wrong places, Dad!" Dean whispered furiously as he moved closer, worried that his words might carry. "I mean, you _have_ spoken to this girl recently, right? Because I just did. And I'm pretty sure the _only_ reason little birds and forest animals aren't following her around, singing Disney tunes, is because they can't get past the freaking _wards_!"

He ran his hands over his face roughly before shaking his head and turning his back on his father.

John took a reflexive and furious step forward, hand raised to reach for his son, before catching himself. With a herculean effort, he managed to reign in the urge to smack the smart-ass right outta Dean's mouth. With even more exertion, he made an attempt to see things from his son's perspective.

He hadn't always made such efforts. As a reward for his temper, he already had one estranged son in California.

Exhaling slowly, John kept his voice calm and low as he stepped closer to Dean. "I understand the reluctance. Really, I do," he granted. "And believe me, I hate to kick you while you're down. But before you make up your mind, you should probably know that the alternative... is me."

Dean spun on his heel and stared at his father as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"What?! You can't! You're-"

Two things stopped Dean from finishing that sentence:  
1.) a strong desire to live  
2.) the thought, _Twenty bucks, Dad breaks his foot off in my ass if I say 'old_'.

"Old enough to be her very young grandfather?" John finished knowingly. "Exactly. But let's be perfectly fucking clear here that, yeah, I still _can_, okay?" He said with an arched brow and the faintest hint of a smirk.

Dean snorted at that.

"It's just that I'd rather not, given the age difference. Which is why I volunteered you," John said.

"Can't they just wait a little longer and get somebody her age? There's gotta be somebody better."

"Afraid not, son."

John watched sympathetically as Dean slumped heavily against the side of the Impala.

Despite keeping his eyes expertly averted from his father, John could see that his lashes were wet with unshed tears of frustration. Those tears only ever made an appearance when the boy's conscience was eating him alive.

Sighing, he took his place beside his son, leaning his back against the car.

"Look," he began softly. "Ain't more than a handful of people granted entrance to this place. Only maybe a dozen even know it exists. I've been coming here, getting ammo and help from this family ever since I found Fiona that night and brought her home. They know me. And they've asked around. Apparently, we Winchesters got ourselves a good reputation. God only knows why. Ain't for our bedside manner, that's for damned sure."

Dean grunted in agreement.

John crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes on the floor as he went on. It was for the best, but he still felt a pang of guilt for talking his son into this. As with every time he had to shove his own conscience into the corners of his mind, John swore he felt himself aging another ten years.

"She doesn't know it yet, but her cousin is dying. Only has about a month left, so shit's gonna get even worse for them again. They're in a bad way. And they obviously can't go outside our circles for help on this. Now, you've met most of the other hunters running around out there. Any of them jumping out in your mind as someone you'd want in bed with your 16 year old virgin daughter?"

Against his will, Dean recalled some of the most unsavory hunters he'd encountered over the years. Then he pictured them left alone with Fiona.

A chill ran up his spine.

"Hate to say it, kid, but the fact that you don't want to do this only proves that you're the best candidate for it," John offered.

"Damn it." Dean growled in defeat. After a moment, he gave his father a mock sideways glare. "I know I'm pretty, Dad, but since when do I gotta worry about you pimping me out?"

Caught off guard by the comment, John let slip a rare bark of laughter before quickly masking it as a cough. Damn Dean's smart-ass mouth. He was never wholly prepared for what was gonna pop out of it.

Despite feeling like hell about the situation he was in, Dean smirked victoriously.

"Ah, well, you know how it is," John began, drawing a hand over his beard to hide a smile. "Haggling for a better price on ammunition, someone mentions throwing in my firstborn to sweeten the pot... Next thing I know, your ass is part of the deal and I'm getting half-off silver rounds for life."

"You. Got. Ripped. Off." Dean declared sternly. "I'll have you know this ass is prime cut and grade A. Worth a hell of a lot more than half-off silver rounds."

He took a small measure of comfort from the sound of his father's rumbling chuckle beside him.

"_Shit_..." Dean breathed. "Why couldn't this have happened while Sammy was still around? Could've made it a virgin two-for offering."

"Nah, it still would've been you," John assured with a hint of a smile. "Sammy'd have balked. Probably would've sworn I'd orchestrated the whole damned thing just to ruin his life."

"Yeah. He'd still have thrown a royal bitch fit, though, even if I was the one doing the deed. Would've been pissed at you on my behalf. Then he'd sulk for about 3 months after," Dean added with a smirk.

The pair descended into silence, as they were prone to do when the subject of Sam came up.

"So... What now?" Dean finally asked with no small amount of dread. Off in the distance, he could still make out the form of Fiona up on her perch.

"Now, you wait while everything's set up. Should be ready in a couple of hours. But first, we gotta get awkward."

"It can get _more_ awkward than this?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Based on the...frankly _alarming_ amount of condoms you buy, I can assume you're always safe, right?"

"Oh, **wow**. That answers my question," Dean laughed. "Yes. Always. We're not gonna have 'the talk' now, are we? Cuz I gotta say, you're just a _bit_ late to that party."

"Can-it, smart ass. I'm asking because, for this spell, the act's gotta be... natural."

Dean's mouth fought to repeat the word. His lips could shape it, but his voice didn't want to cooperate at first.

"Nat- Natural? Did you say _natural_?"

"That's what I said. Girl's virginity is being offered as a sacrifice to a demigod in exchange for the family's protection. Sex is the price of admission and, not to point out the obvious, you can't exactly get a do-over here if it turns out a condom negated the deal."

Dean leaned down and gripped his knees again. It was like another punch straight to the gut.

He knew he didn't have any STDs or anything like that. I mean, he might be a man-whore according to Sam, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid. He'd never been unsafe in his life. The way they moved around? That was just _asking_ for the kinds of trouble that would seriously cramp his style.

But still, after all the women he'd been with...?

(_And I mean, really? We're talking a LOT of women. As in triple digits. As in he literally could be standing in the same room with ten of them and not recognize a single one.)_

He felt like a complete and total sleaze-ball for even considering this. Not only taking this sweet, innocent girl's virginity, but daring to do it without a condom?

He let out a groan at the thought and felt his stomach turning again.

John smirked in response and patted him on the back. "I'm not gonna have to give you a '_you can do it_' pep talk here, am I? Cuz frankly, the past ten years of you whorin' around have proven that much."

Dean let out another long, low groan in response.

* * *

**A/N:** Thoughts? Comments? Did you LOL at any parts? Were John and Dean in character to you? What do you think about Dean's dilemma? Want more? Be sure to let me know what you think! (It helps me update faster!)


	4. Hero

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**  
**August 2004**

The next hour or so went by in a blur of making preparations and following orders. In Dean's opinion, Mitch was entirely too nice to him. I mean, who the hell is friendly to a guy knowing they're about to take your daughter's v-card, right?

Her aunt even offered to make him something for dinner. _Seriously_?! What the fuck? '_Gotta keep your energy up if you're gonna pound my niece later, sonny. How about I make you a nice meatloaf_?'

The whole situation was officially giving him the creeps.

At least her (very large) brother, Frank was behaving appropriately by Dean's standards. He looked like it was taking all of his strength not to run over and break Dean's face for going along with this.

Dean sort of wished he would.

After a while, he pulled his Dad aside and asked where Fiona was. He found out that her family had only told her about their grand plan after his Dad told him. She'd been just as caught off guard as he was, and had evidently escaped to her bedroom.

He knew she was up there right then, undoubtedly working herself into a frenzy as a result of this little bombshell.

With considerable effort, he managed to keep his anger on her behalf from his voice when he spoke up.

"I gotta say this, right up front," he announced, and waited until all eyes in the room were on him. "I want to help your family. I really do. But I don't want to do this. I will, but it's only because you're telling me it's the only way. You should know, though, that I am **not** going to rush her. I'm not going to..." Dean trailed off for a moment, looking anywhere but at his father and Mitch. "Fiona sets the timetable here. It's as simple as that. Whether it takes an hour or a week before she's ready to go through with this, so be it. This is a really shitty situation for her and I got no intentions of making it worse. If she ain't comfortable, then it ain't gonna happen. That's just how it's gonna be."

"I can respect that," Mitch replied with an appreciative smile.

Dean resisted the urge to wipe it off his face.

With a muttered, 'excuse me,' he left the room in a rush.

He made a b-line for Fiona's room, though he had no idea what he could possibly say once he got there. All he knew was that she must be driving herself crazy and he needed to stop that. He felt a familiar protectiveness stir in his blood. A need to spare her from fear and pain - from anything that would take away her innocent smile.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside her door. It wasn't closed, but he rapped his knuckles against the thick wood just the same.

"Knock, knock," he called softly and rested his shoulder against the doorframe.

She was sitting on her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting atop them and arms wrapped around them tightly. The panic in her eyes was plain to see. It made his heart ache.

"Hey," he greeted when she finally looked up at him.

"Hey," she replied nervously.

He smirked and looked down at the floor, toeing the carpet as he sighed, "Well, it's a good thing this isn't the most awkward situation _ever_."

Fiona laughed bitterly in agreement.

"Mind if I sit?" He asked, motioning to the foot of her bed.

She took a choppy, anxious breath and nodded.

He moved slowly, worried once again that he might spook her. When he was seated, he decided to just go ahead tackle the elephant in the room. It went against the Winchester way, of course, but there was no use dancing around the subject. It wasn't going to help her any.

"All right, let's get this out there. I'm not in a rush to do...this. And if you decide you don't want to go through with it, that's totally fine."

Fiona let out a frustrated sigh. "But Dad said it's our only shot."

"Yeah? Well, I say screw that," Dean declared determinedly. "We'll come up with something. And I'll help your family keep this place secure in the mean time. Look... If you want to give this a shot, I'm here. But if you don't want to do it, you have to tell me. You have to be honest with me, okay?"

She nodded reluctantly.

After a moment, she finally confessed, "I don't like that it's happening this way."

"Understandable," Dean granted.

"But...I want to try to help," she continued. "And God, I _really_ want to be able to go outside again."

"I bet," he said with a nod and an arched brow, trying to imagine what this was like for her. "I'd go nuts if I was trapped in here as long as you've been."

"But I know you don't want to do this," she said, dropping her eyes to her comforter. "And I don't want to make you do something against your will. It's not fair and it's not right. So-"

She stopped abruptly when Dean started to laugh and shake his head.

"Why are you laughing?" She all-but whimpered.

"Because that's exactly why I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around this," Dean confessed with a warm smile.

She tilted her head at him curiously, waiting for an explanation.

"It feels like you're getting forced to give it up by your family, that I'm just helping them force you into it. And - call me crazy - the thought of forcing a sweet teenage girl to have sex just doesn't do it for me," he joked. "Besides, your first time is supposed to be special. It's supposed to be with someone you care about, someone you trust. It should be with somebody better."

It was Fiona's turn to laugh lightly.

"What?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what he could have said that she would find funny.

"It's just hilarious that you think I should be with someone '_better_'," she said in disbelief.

Dean looked back at her in confusion, not understanding what was strange about that.

Shaking her head, she looked over at him in amazement.

"_Dean!_" She breathed as if trying to snap him out of it. "You are everything a girl could ever ask for. You do know that, right? I mean, you're great looking, funny, an honest-to-God _hero_, you drive an awesome car, and I know first-hand that you've got a heart of gold. You're an all around amazing person - don't you see that? You put yourself in danger to save the lives of complete _strangers_. You fight _evil_. How could _you_ think that _I_ deserve better than that?"

Dean averted his eyes, shifted self-consciously, and swallowed hard at her praise. He secretly wished he could see himself the way she did.

"I mean, let's be honest - you can have any girl you want," she continued to ramble awkwardly. "You're **way** out of my league. If it wasn't for the fact that I met you when I was a kid, I'd be too shy to even _look_ at you, let alone..."

He looked back over at her in wonder, marveling at just how enamored he was fast-becoming with her quirkiness. A smile came to his lips as he watched her attempting in vain to tuck that ever-errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"As it is, it's hard enough to talk to you," she confessed, her words coming faster the longer she spoke. "I know I'm not good enough for you. And this whole thing just feels like pity. And I can't decide whether I'm more afraid of you letting on just how much you don't want to do this or of you pretending you're interested for the sake of sparing my feelings. And all of that is _really_ making it harder to even think about doing-"

He leaned over then, surprising them both as he pressed his lips to hers, effectively silencing her ramblings.

Fiona froze at first, unsure of what to do. After a moment, and with Dean's hand cupping her face, his thumb tracing her cheek tenderly, she sighed and relaxed into the contact. Dean found himself doing the same, relaxing in a way he wasn't used to. When he broke the kiss, he gazed into her eyes and smiled - really smiled for the first time in what felt like ages.

"It's not pity, Fi," he assured softly with a shake of his head.

Her cheeks colored preciously-pink in response to his words and her new nickname. She looked down at her hands, overwhelmed by the power of his adoring green gaze.

Dean took her chin between his thumb and index finger, gently urging her to look back up at him. He waited for her to meet his eyes before going on.

"You are so incredibly beautiful," he insisted sincerely. "And you're the sweetest thing I have ever met. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If you weren't stuck in here, you'd know that. Guys would be falling over themselves just to get your attention. And before you told me who you were earlier, I'd already been planning to come back this way once you were 18. Trust me, this isn't something I'm being forced into. Being with you? Not even close to a hardship, you got it? It's ahead of schedule, sure, but I would have been back here trying to catch your eye later, any way."

Fiona's face lit up with her smile. Her cheeks were in a full-on blush now, and Dean chuckled in appreciation of it before kissing her again.

He moved slowly and tenderly, keeping the kiss simple while she learned the feeling of his lips against hers, the way they slotted together perfectly.

When they paused to breathe a moment later, she rolled her forehead against his and kept her eyes closed, afraid that, if she looked at him, she would lose her courage to say this.

"You said my first time should be with someone I care about and trust," she whispered. "That's you, Dean. It's only ever been you. There's no one else," she confessed timidly. "I'm sorry if that freaks you out. But I've been right here since I saw you last. When I'd get lonely... When I'd try to imagine the man I wanted to be with one day... It's always been you."

Dean's chest constricted with the weight of those words. He was overwhelmed by the truth of them. By the responsibility that came with holding this sweet girl's heart in his hands.

He kissed her deeply then, trembling with the effort it took to move slowly, to contain his emotions and prevent them from pouring into his actions.

He tried not to be thrown when the realization hit that he was giving her her first real kiss.

She let out a surprised, '_mmph_' in response, but caught on quickly. A contented sigh escaped her as she followed and mimicked his movements.

Dean moaned as his body eagerly responded to her - sound, scent, taste, and touch. There was something about the fact that she was learning from him - a complete blank slate to teach every pleasure - that was suddenly the most alluring thing he'd ever known. He brought his hand up to the back of her head, running his fingers through her long hair and angling her head this way and that, showing her how to meet his kisses, how he wanted to be kissed.

He was surprised by the possessiveness he suddenly felt for her. She was his. Irrefutably. She'd been here, locked away, for more than half of her life. She'd spent that time with him as the only man on her mind - her '_honest-to-God hero_.' And no one but him had ever as much as kissed her before.

All Disney-princess joking aside, their relationship did have a certain fairy tale-esque feel. She was a modern-day Rapunzel locked up here in her tower, waiting for her hero to rescue her.

Dean would deny till his dying day how the pure sap of that thought made him smile into her kiss.

He pulled away eventually, reminding himself that he wanted to take this slow. Besides, if he let himself be swept away by the powerful emotions of that moment, they were going to miss the chance to offer her virginity downstairs on the altar.

She looked up into his eyes dreamily as he ran his fingertips down her bare arm.

"How about...we take our time here?" He suggested with a smirk. "We don't want to skip any of the good parts, right?"

Fiona sighed and nodded, biting her (now thoroughly-kissed) bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment.

"Maybe just hang out and get to know each other a little better?" She offered.

"Read my mind."

**-SPN-**

It was a good plan - the getting to know one another thing. Well, aside from the fact that it derailed numerous times into some of the hottest make-out sessions Dean had ever been a part of. He'd forgotten how incredibly arousing it could be to just kiss and grind through clothing when sex wasn't a possibility. Fiona's skin smelled like peaches - some girly body wash or lotion that was his new favorite scent in the world.

And it turned out that she was a star-pupil. Her instincts rivaled even Dean's own. For someone who had only just learned to kiss, she was fast able to leave him breathless and starving for more. He didn't know whether it was a natural born gift, or a perk of being the only man she'd ever been with, but he couldn't get enough of her touch. She was able to pick up on the subtlest of clues as to what he wanted and was more than eager to oblige.

Even with all the heavy-petting, they did do a lot of talking that evening.

Despite her shyness and the way she had great difficulty holding his gaze when she spoke sometimes, Fiona always spoke plainly. It captivated him. She offered complete and unwaveringly-open honesty. No mincing of words. No masks. No efforts to hide her (unbeknownst to her, endearing) awkwardness behind a front of 'cool'. No concealing her deep personal pains or weaknesses. And she offered no apologies for being breakable - for being utterly human.

She had no idea how brave that made her in Dean's eyes.

In return, Dean found himself telling her things he'd never said aloud before. It went way beyond what he'd shared with Cassie - and yet, this time, he wasn't rejected.

He told Fiona his insecurities and fears. He told her about his secret hopes and dreams, and that he knew they would never come to be.

He told her about how much he missed his Mom. How he dreamt about her sometimes. Dreamt that he was back in their burning house as an adult, and this time, he was able to save her from the demon.

He told her about his Dad. How he missed the man he once was. How he forgave him for the life he'd been forced to lead, but that he couldn't find it in his heart to forgive him for driving Sam away.

And he talked to her about _Sammy_, for God's sake. How it killed him every. single. day. to be separated from his little brother. How it felt like he'd lost a limb - _no_, more like he'd lost his _heart_, because he honestly didn't know how he was still alive with Sam missing from his world. He told her how he was never free of the sensation of crippling loss. How the distance and complete lack of communication made it hard to even breathe sometimes. How it felt like he'd lost his purpose in life - his sense of self. How it got so bad sometimes that he didn't know how he would wake up and face another day.

And you know what? It turned out that it wasn't half bad to open up to someone.

Or maybe it was just that he was opening up to Fiona... It felt right somehow, talking to her. The simple, plainly-spoken wisdom and comfort she offered in reply seemed far beyond her short years. She had this way of soothing his anguish or shaking sense into him within the span of a few words.

Being with her was like a salve for his wounded soul. Through her eyes, he saw himself in a new light, and for once, he didn't hate what he saw.

* * *

**A/N:** Sooo, what d'ya think? Hate it? Love it? Did you grin or LOL at any parts? Do you like the pairing? Do you want more? Let me know! I allwaayyyss love hearing your thoughts!


	5. Moment of Truth

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**  
**August 2004**

Dean woke some time in the middle of the night. He couldn't even remember dozing off, but between Fiona's (holy crap) _crazy_-comfortable bed (seriously - best bed he'd ever been in) and all the talking, he must have finally passed out.

He couldn't help but smile down at her adoringly where she lay curled up beside him on top of the covers. He kissed her brow and inhaled her peachy-scent and pretended that he could stay here with her forever. No more battles to fight. No more demons to chase. Just..._this_. Peace and comfort. Contentment.

After so many hours of talking, he realized that he felt lighter somehow. The knots in his shoulders had eased. His seemingly perpetual stress-headache was MIA.

He moved closer to her, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingertips. She sighed and smiled in her sleep, and it was so perfect it made him _ache_. Careful not to wake her, he pulled a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and covered her with it.

The sun had long-since risen when she finally stirred. Dean had been awake for most of the night, watching her and enjoying the silence - the break from every difficult, harsh, painful thing that made up his normal existence.

"Good morning, sunshine," he greeted with a smile when she opened her eyes.

She focused on his face and instantly flushed crimson.

"Good...m-morning..." she stammered shyly.

He chuckled and hoped to God she never lost that shyness.

Knowing that he would most likely be wrapped around her in sweaty, naked bliss any time now, he waited for her to come out after her morning shower before asking to use it himself.

It was body wash, by the way - her signature peachy-scent. Dean popped the top and gave it an experimental sniff to identify the source. He took note of the brand - just in case, down the road, things got dark and he needed a reminder of her. He knew he would forever associate that smell with her sweetness and the rare sense of peace he was currently experiencing.

He felt a hell of a lot better once he was clean and shaved. Apparently looked better, too, judging by Fiona's reaction. When he stepped out of the bathroom towel-drying his hair, clad only in a fresh pair of boxers and low-riding jeans, her face blushed so hard she turned damned near purple. She looked away abruptly, pretending to be occupied with something in her dresser. He laughed and took mercy on her, pulling on a fresh shirt so she wouldn't faint on him.

They made their way downstairs a short time later and ate a very awkward breakfast with her family and his father. Dean could barely get his food down. His stomach roiled under the weight of the unspoken, "_Did you two screw yet?_"

Once they had their fill of food, coffee, and forced conversation, they slipped away into the main area of the warehouse.

They had only made it about five steps before Frank stepped out in front of them.

Dean arched a brow at the jarring height difference, craning his neck slightly to look her big brother in the eyes.

"Frank..." she pleaded and tugged on his arm in vain, trying to pull him away from Dean.

"Just want a word with him, that's all," Frank assured with a forced smile.

Dean didn't buy it, but big brother code dictated that he had to at least hear the guy out.

"It's okay, Fi. Just give us a few," Dean said, smiling up at Frank just as fakely.

Fiona looked back and forth between the two anxiously before finally sighing and nodding.

"All right. But I'm only going right over there," she said, pointing to a spot about 50 feet away. "And I'll be able to see you, Frank. _Please_ behave yourself."

Frank grunted in response, not necessarily agreement.

Once she was well out of earshot, Frank gave Dean an (admittedly intimidating) once-over.

"You've got a kid brother - Sam, right?" He asked purposefully.

Dean's jaw flexed at the mention of his brother. "Yeah."

Frank nodded. "You think you're protective of him?"

With a smile, Dean held out his hands. "Overly-so, the way he tells it."

"Well, imagine what it'd be like if he was a girl," Frank challenged.

Dean chuckled. "That's actually not as far off the mark as you'd think..."

Frank instantly stepped closer, causing Dean to take a reflexive step back and bring his fists up slightly, preparing to defend himself.

But the blow he was expecting never came. Frank glanced over at his little sister's disapproving frown in the distance and managed to reign in his temper. He spoke quietly, but furiously as he went on.

"This isn't some God damned joke, you smart-mouthed son of a bitch," he snarled. "Imagine how you would feel if your Pops offered Sam's ass over to a nameless hunter as part of some hair-brained scheme to 'save the family.' Imagine if he was as sweet and innocent as Fiona is."

Dean swallowed hard. After a moment, he nodded in all seriousness. He got it. He really did. He couldn't even imagine the level of restraint it was taking for Frank not to break his face.

"I understand," Dean offered quietly. "Tables were turned, I'd have beaten you bloody by now for even considering it, so I'll give credit where it's due for your self control."

Frank shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly reconsidering his decision to behave.

"But I promise you, man, I will not rush her or hurt her," Dean swore sincerely. "I meant what I said yesterday. You have my word. I looked out for her when she was a kid...which, granted, makes this incredibly awkward...but you need to remember that. I'd never do anything to hurt her. Not then, not now. If she changes her mind at any point..." He met Frank's gaze intensely, stressing again, "...and I do mean, at **ANY** point, then the whole thing's off. And if they don't like it, then your Dad and my Dad can both just take turns kissing my ass."

Frank considered his words for a moment before giving a nod of approval.

"I need you to do me a favor, though," Dean said, and smirked at the incredulous look Frank gave in response. "I need you to keep my Dad out of my hair in case this takes another day or two. I mean, shit, I have no intention of putting this on a schedule, but he sure as hell might."

"I can do that," Frank agreed. "Got some new blades I've been working on. A few designs and sketches for guns I've been kicking around that could use a hunter's input... Can string those along for a while. Your Pops is always real interested in the new stuff."

Dean smiled and shook Frank's hand. "Thanks, man."

Frank gave his hand a painful warning squeeze, just to remind Dean who he was dealing with. "I'm holding you to your word, Winchester. She cries, you bleed. Got it?"

Wincing and carefully extricating his hand from Frank's crushing grip, Dean nodded. "I hear you. Loud and..._painfully_ clear."

Dean massaged his aching hand and cast a few smirks over his shoulder at Frank as he made his way over to Fiona.

"Are you okay? He didn't do anything, did he? He's gets sort of overprotective when it comes to me," she said, eyeing Dean worriedly.

"Ah, go easy on him. Being overprotective? Sort of a big brother's job," Dean said with a grin. "We're good, though. Just needed to settle his nerves a bit. He knows nothing about me - that's gotta make this situation worse for him."

Dean faltered slightly when he noticed that her eyes had become locked on the room where the altar waited.

Moment of truth.

It was up to her now. They could retreat back to her bedroom and hide away from the world together for another day (part of him really hoped she went with that option) or they could head in and do this thing.

He watched her take a deep breath before she reached out and took his hand in hers.

"I'm ready," she declared and cast him a nervous glance.

"You're sure?" He asked carefully, somehow managing to mask his disappointment. Once this was done, his Dad would want to hit the road, but Dean didn't want to leave yet.

Unfortunately, he also didn't want to make her second-guess herself. If he told her that he'd have to leave once they did this, it would be just another reason for her to obsess over the decision.

She nodded in response, and he smiled, despite the countdown that had just started in the back of his mind.

When he slid open the heavy rolling fire-door to the altar area, he felt her hold on his hand tighten considerably. He couldn't help but arch a brow at the set up.

"Wow... Not exactly winning any awards for décor in here, huh?" He joked, but he was not at all happy.

The girl was about to lose her virginity, and all their Dads had done was set up the required candles and paint a bunch of damned spelled symbols on the floor around a beat-up old wooden table.

Nice.

'_Thanks for taking one for the team / family - here's some splinters in your ass_.'

Dean sighed heavily in aggravation and released her hand.

"Be right back," he assured in reply to her concerned look.

He darted from the room and returned a couple minutes later, armed with the spare blanket from her bedroom. She smiled appreciatively as he used it to cover the table.

"What?" He asked with a shrug and a smirk when he was finished. "Who says chivalry is dead?" He teased and savored the laugh she gave in response. "Sooo... Supposed to be pretty straight forward here."

He picked up a list of instructions for the spell in his father's familiar handwriting.

"There's a symbol I have to paint on your chest. Gotta light these candles and set this bowl of...whatever the hell this is on fire... Here's hoping it doesn't stink." He pulled his zippo from his pocket and took care of that step. "There's some Gaelic here I gotta read, but it's spelled out phonetically, so it should be no sweat."

Fiona nodded distractedly as he spoke, but her eyes were locked on the table / altar.

Dean sighed and set down the list before approaching her slowly.

"Fi?" He called and waited for her to look up at him nervously. He gave her a reassuring smile as he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's still just us. You're safe with me. You know that, right?"

She gave him a half smile and nodded. "Of course."

He picked up the paint and brush that had been left for him.

With trembling fingers, she opened the top few buttons of her dress and exposed the center of her chest.

He took his time painting the symbol on her skin, made sure he matched the drawing perfectly. He knew all too well how important it was to get this sort of thing accurate. One break in the line or extra swirl and there was no telling what the consequences might be. He could unwittingly offer up her life instead of her virginity.

When he was finished, he blew on the the paint gently, giving it time to dry. Whatever the stuff was made of, it was serious. He used a damp rag to wipe away the excess, revealing a perfect stain of the symbol on her skin. No need to worry about it getting smudged or rubbed off in the act.

He read the Gaelic with just as much care and watched the symbol shimmer slightly in response.

Show time.

"You trust me?" He asked, but he knew the answer. He just wanted her to remember it. To use that fact to calm her nerves.

"Always, Dean," she assured, leaning into his palm as he cupped her cheek.

"You wanna get comfortable? Maybe...make out a little?" He suggested with a wink and a cheeky smile. He needed to get his hands and his mouth on her again, to get her relaxed in his presence again.

She laughed and pretended to consider it for a moment.

"I guess we could do that," she said in feigned reluctance.

He sat back onto the table top, taking her hand and slowly drawing her closer until she was standing in front of him.

"Hey, beautiful," he whispered when they were face to face again.

She blushed and looked down. She had _no idea_ just how damned sexy that was.

Dean pushed her hair back over her shoulders. When she chanced a look at him, he let his eyes wander down to her lips. He smirked at the way her breathing instantly hitched in response. Knowing _exactly_ how much it worked her up, he licked his full bottom lip before drawing it between his teeth - all the while letting his longing to kiss her become plain in his features.

"_You want to kiss me, Fi?_" he whispered teasingly, letting their lips just barely brush.

Fiona whimpered at that and nodded eagerly.

"Then do it, baby girl. I'm right here for you," he urged, wanting her to take the initiative.

She did as he instructed, kissing him hungrily and with all the little tricks she'd already learned from him.

He moaned deeply in response, not only to egg her on, but also because the girl was _crazy_ good with her tongue. It sent a thrill straight through him, made his jeans instantly too tight, left him with no option but to reach down and adjust himself. Once his hard-on was properly positioned in line with the fly of his jeans, he lifted Fiona up off of her feet.

She let out an adorable surprised squeal of a sound against his lips. He chuckled as he pulled her on to his lap, guiding her to straddle him.

Her dress rode up to her hips, leaving her thighs bare for his rough hands to grip. Nothing but her panties separated her from the denim of his jeans and the hard cock straining against it to reach her.

She broke their kiss, gasping at the sensation of him between her thighs.

"You feel that, Fi?" He asked breathily in her ear as he thrust up against her.

She nodded and whimpered in reply as she clutched his shoulders.

"You do that to me. Drive me so wild," he swore. "Make me want to kiss your whole body. Taste you all over..."

To punctuate that statement, he sucked her earlobe gently. His teasing backfired slightly, however. He hissed at the way she wiggled in his lap in response.

"Can I, baby girl?" He begged roughly. "Can I taste you?"

Fiona moaned and pressed down harder against him, nodding her agreement as words completely failed her.

"Lay back for me. I want to look at you first," he whispered as he guided her to lay down on the table.

He crawled up the length of her body, bracing himself with a hand beside her head. His other hand moved to the buttons of her dress. They ran the full length of the garment, and his fingers trembled slightly in anticipation as he worked his way down her stomach and between her legs.

He made himself wait until every last button was free before sliding the material open, revealing her warm, heavenly-soft body clad in nothing more than a sky-blue bra and panties.

"So damned perfect..." he declared. His lips parted in awe as he slid his hand up her stomach, starting at her navel and slipping up between her breasts.

The girl was _built_ - full tits and hips, an ass that just wouldn't quit, strong thighs... Nice and thick all over in just the right ways. He bit his bottom lip as he continued his exploration, peeling her dress away and groaning at the sight of her. She gazed up at him in uncertainty, her head tilted slightly as the blush he couldn't get enough of crept down her chest.

"_God, _baby," he breathed, growing harder for her as he pulled off his shirt and necklace.

He captured her mouth with his own, loving the way her soft hands began slowly and tentatively wandering over his back. He leaned into her touch encouragingly, intentionally shifting and flexing the muscles of his shoulders and back for her.

When he started to kiss his way down her throat, he heard her say in barely more than a whisper, "Will you...?"

She trailed off, though, clearly losing her nerve.

Dean wasn't having any of that.

"I'll do anything you want, Fi," he promised against her throat in a tone drenched in sex. "Anything..."

Fiona groaned in reply, her instincts driving her to wrap a leg around his hips and grind up against him.

"I want..." she tried again, but he could feel the heat in her cheeks - didn't need to look to know she was locked in a frantic battle against her crippling shyness.

"Tell me what you want, baby girl," he pleaded. "Let me hear you say it."

"I want to...see you..." she finally managed. "...to touch you..."

Dean brought his face level with hers, gazing down into her eyes intensely in appreciation, letting their lips brush together as he spoke.

"Mmm... I can do that. I'm yours, Fi. _All_ yours," he reminded with a purposeful roll of his hips. "I can do whatever you want."

In response to that declaration, her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

"_Dean_..." she whimpered desperately.

He smiled as he rolled them over, settling onto his back on the table. She gripped his shoulders to hold herself steady, watching in amazement as he stretched his arms out above his head. It was an act of submission - turning over the reigns in a way she wasn't sure she could handle.

"Go ahead. See me, baby girl," he urged with a deadly sexy smile. "Touch me."

She sucked in a deep breath through her teeth and slowly, hesitantly, let her hands slide down his bare chest.

Dean let out a rumbling, '_mmm_...' of approval and gripped the end of the table as he watched her. It was impossibly sexy to him - the way her lips parted as she explored his body, the way she gasped at the feel of him and carefully followed the movements of her hands with her eyes.

She traced her fingertips delicately over his scars, studying each of them as if reading words on a page - the story of his life etched into his flesh. Slowly, carefully, she leaned down and pressed her lips to a particularly thick scar on his left shoulder.

He inhaled sharply as he watched her soft pink lips press a sweet kiss to the old wound. The need to get out of his jeans was becomingly painfully urgent.

With a deep blush and trembling hands, she leaned back and brought his hand up to her side. He watched in rapt attention as she guided his fingertips to the long, thin scar that ran along her ribs.

His heart clenched in remembrance. He could see her as that wounded little girl, trusting him to patch her up, even after the hell she'd been through. It was a reminder that she trusted him still, despite her current anxieties and fears.

He sat up then, sensing her need for reassurance and comfort. He ducked down to her side, bringing his lips to the scar as she ran her fingers over the back of his head. He let his tongue trace the line of the scar and she shuddered in his arms in response.

When he pulled away and gazed into her eyes, he was overwhelmed by the emotion he felt for her. He refused to name it, kissed her as a means of distracting himself from its existence.

He stood slowly, keeping their mouths joined as he guided her to sit. Without breaking their kiss, he unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans. She gripped the back of his head with one hand, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him hungrily as her excitement and anxiety grew.

He brought his hands down over her shoulders, caressing her back before unhooking her bra. He savored every new inch of skin he came across as he slid the garment down her arms. Tossing it aside, he pulled her closer, reveling in the sensation of bare chest pressed against his own.

She broke their kiss to gasp and let her head roll back. He took the invitation, letting his lips wander slowly down the side of her throat, down the center of her chest... When he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, she let out a sound that nearly did him in. He moaned against her breast before using his tongue and lips to elicit more of those delicious noises from her.

If she was this blown away by a little nipple play, he wondered what she would sound like when he actually made her come... His brows drew together and he panted against her flesh at the thought. Curiosity driving him on, he moved lower, kissing his way down her stomach with singular intent.

He guided her to lay on her back again, and cast her a reassuring smile, soothing the renewed anxiety in her expression.

"_God_, I want you, Fi," he swore before kissing her knee. "You want me, sweetheart?"

Her eyes rolled back and eyes closed in response to his words and tone, and she somehow managed to nod.

But even as she nodded, he felt her legs tremble with the instinct to shut him out and pull away.

"Don't be scared. I've got you, okay?" He whispered before kissing her inner thigh and rolling his tongue against her skin.

Fiona glanced down at him nervously, her cheeks blushing dark and knees still shaking.

"You want me to stop?" Dean asked, dropping the aroused roughness from his voice as he pulled back slightly, careful not to sound the least bit disappointed. "It's okay if you do," he assured sincerely. "I promise, I won't be mad. We can try again later. Or not. Completely up to you, darling."

Her eyes watered slightly, and that was almost it. There was no freaking _**way**_ he was going to do this if she was freaked out enough that it was making her cry...

But then she took a deep breath and smiled down at him, and he recognized the look on her face as appreciation and relief.

"Thank you, Dean." She whispered, reaching down and entwining their fingers. "I don't want to stop. I'm just nervous. And you're just...entirely too good looking."

Dean chuckled at that and kissed her hand. "The way you feel when you look at me? It's the same as I feel when I look at you. You're gorgeous, girl. You just don't even know."

Fiona wrinkled her nose as she looked down at him incredulously.

"Think I'm kidding?" He laughed. "I am gonna be dreaming about the way you look right now for _years_. And I swear, I don't think I'll ever be able to smell peaches again without getting hard."

Fiona laughed openly at that. And dear God help him if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. Laying there in only her panties, her hair fanning out beneath her on the blanket, his hand in hers pressed to her belly, and her entire body shaking with laughter.

Once she settled down, she gazed down at him with adoration shining in her amber eyes.

She studied his expression for a moment before confessing with a smile, "I think I kind of love it when you look at me like that."

"Good. Cuz I think I kind of love looking at you," he answered honestly.

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, I'm ready."

Dean waggled his eyebrows and licked his lips in reply, earning another giggle.

"Ordinarily, I'd use my hands on you, too," he explained before resuming his mouth's path down her inner thigh. He moaned at the thought of fingering her. "But I don't know the fine print on this spell, so I'm just gonna use my mouth to get you wet and ready for me."

"_Unf_..." she groaned. "You're killing me here," she whined with a laugh and propped herself up on her elbows to watch.

Dean smiled slyly as he kissed her through her panties. Well, well - baby girl had herself a kink for dirty talk. Probably didn't even know it yet. They'd have more fun exploring that later, he'd make sure of it. For now, though...

"You like it when I tell you what I'm gonna do to you?" He teased knowingly.

She panted and nodded as he hooked his fingers beneath the sides of her panties.

"I'm going to spend the next hour memorizing the taste of you, sweetheart," he promised before slowly dragging the material down her legs. "I'm going to make you feel so good, you're gonna lose your voice from screaming my name."

She whimpered as he tossed her panties aside.

He brought his hands down each of her thighs, slowly guiding her to spread her legs open wide for him.

"That's it, baby," he purred in approval before lightly stroking her clit with his thumb.

Fiona moaned and pressed closer to his hand, her legs shaking uncontrollably in a mix of nervousness and pleasure.

He leaned down then, settling in comfortably between her thighs. He was gonna be there for a while.

For the first several moments, he busied himself with teasing her, running his tongue over her lightly, never giving the right pressure in the right places. She panted and groaned in frustration, her body telling her what it needed, begging for him to give it to her.

When he finally brought his mouth against her fully, she let out long, infinitely relieved moan.

He was pleasantly surprised when she reached down and ran her fingers through his hair, urging and guiding his mouth where she needed him. He smiled against her, loving the way she was so completely lost in the sensation that she didn't even realize she was taking the lead here.

All timidity was forgotten as she gripped his hair and pressed his mouth hard against her clit, all but demanding that he give her release.

Her cries grew steadily louder, steadily more frantic, and he followed her wordless pleading and went in for the kill.

Her entire body rocked with the force of her orgasm when she finally came. Her screamed repetition of '_Oh My God! Dean!_' echoed loudly through the room. In the back of his mind, he prayed they weren't heard elsewhere in the building.

He looked up at her when she finally stopped grinding down against him, finally stopped the instinctual movements to chase every last aftershock. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her pupils were blown wide beneath her heavy lids. The amber of her eyes was practically ablaze.

He waited for her breathing to return to normal before leaning in and starting all over again.

True to his word, by the time he was finished teaching her just how good it could be to let a guy go down on her, at least an hour had passed.

He was so far beyond horny, so painfully hard for her, he worried it would be the fastest sex spell in the history of magic.

"I want you," she declared in a newly-confident, sex-roughened tone that made his cock throb. "I want you inside of me, Dean. Please...I'm ready. I just need to feel you in me."

He closed his eyes and nodded, whimpering (that's right, whimpering, damn it) when she leaned forward and kissed him hungrily, learning the taste of herself on his tongue.

"_Fuck_," he breathed against her mouth when she slid his boxers over his hips.

She peered down between them curiously, holding her bottom lip between her teeth before reaching down and gingerly wrapping her hand around his cock.

He hissed and thrust forward into her hand, whispering desperately, "Slow, baby girl. SO slow."

She studied his face intensely before nodding and, at an agonizingly slow pace, stroking his length.

It was too much, watching the curiosity and determination to learn in her expression as her soft hand worked him over. After a moment, he had to make her stop.

In response to her confused look, he smirked and offered, "I can't get off rapid-fire like you can, darling. Takes longer for guys between rounds." He kissed her deeply before adding, "And I think someone mentioned something about needing me inside her..."

Fiona grinned. "Yes. Let's get to that part, please," she said eagerly.

He laughed at her adorable enthusiasm and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her sweetly to set the pace. With a hand on the small of her back, he urged her closer to the edge of the table.

"If it hurts too much, we can stop for a few, okay?" He reminded gently.

"Okay," she agreed and the look on her face - the trust and bravery despite the unknown pain she was about to endure - made him fall for her even harder.

God help him.

He looked into her eyes as he started to slide inside of her, gauging her reaction. Her expression became a rolling mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Too much?" He asked breathlessly, fighting for control when she was so impossibly tight and hot around him.

This was a 'first time' for him, too, after all. He'd never (EVER!) had sex with a girl without a condom before. Cardinal rule numero-uno. And he had never realized what he was missing. There was nothing in his life that compared to the feeling of her wrapped around him with nothing standing between them - the slick heat of her that seeped into his cock.

She shook her head. "No. No. Don't stop. Just...just..."

He nodded in understanding and slid his hand down between them, gently rubbing her clit to balance out the discomfort.

She moaned in appreciation and gripped his shoulder with one hand, planting the other on the table to steady herself.

"God, baby girl," Dean breathed as she clenched around him.

"Mmm...Dean...please...more..." she whispered.

With his entire body rigid, he pressed in further. She whimpered and wriggled her hips before finally deciding to just get it over with. Catching him off guard, she thrust down onto him, sheathing his cock inside of her body.

She let out a strangled cry as he groaned in pleasure, and the symbol on her chest began to glow.

"You okay, Fi?" He managed in a tone equal parts ecstasy and concern.

"_Hurts_..." she admitted with her eyes squeezed tightly closed.

"Tell me what you need," he pleaded as he kissed her temple.

"Make me...make me come again," she urged.

"I can do that," he said with a smile and focused all of his efforts on working her clit.

It was difficult to maintain a good rhythm when, every time he got going, she tightened around him and blew his mind. His efforts paid off, though, and as her pleasure began to build, she began moving her hips against him, tentatively allowing him to slide in and out of her body.

"_Ooh_..." she breathed suddenly in what sounded like absolutely adorable surprise.

Dean couldn't help but grin. "Starting to feel good?" He asked knowingly, suppressing a chuckle.

"Oh...yeah, it is..." she declared. "Oh, Goooooddd..."

Her head rolled back and eyes fluttered closed as she led them in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Oh. _GOD!_" She cried out, still genuinely astonished by the sensation.

Dean did chuckle then before kissing her hungrily and taking over the reigns.

He guided her to lay back onto the table and climbed up to cover her body with his own. At the new angle, he was able to delve deeper. He took his time, moving carefully and slowly, using her body language and moans as a guide for what she needed.

Her hands were all over his body now, no longer afraid to explore and follow her instincts. She wrapped her legs around his hips, kissing her way down his jaw until she was panting his name in his ear.

He held off for as long as he could, but it was getting close. Slowly, so she had the opportunity to let him know if it was too deep, he angled his hips just right for her clit to press perfectly against him.

She gasped and gripped his shoulders, staring up at him in awe as he began rolling his hips. Her mouth hung open and body went rigid, words completely failing her as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. He didn't need to worry that he was hurting her. Her eyes clearly conveyed just how incredible it felt.

"I'm gonna come soon," he groaned, barely able to keep his eyes open against the pleasure. "And I'm taking you with me," he teased.

She frantically matched his movements, apparently eager to follow his lead, wherever it took her.

He was surprised by how fast she urged him to move as she chased her release. Surprised and _immensely_ grateful because, holy shit, he seriously needed to come already.

"Oh, God, Fi..." he gasped and with one final, deliciously deep thrust, unravelled inside of her.

He held on for dear life, crying out at the intensity of the sensation. It was strong enough to make him wonder what he'd been doing wrong every time prior to this.

She followed closely behind, calling his name as her body clenched around him, her inner walls pulsing with her release and almost causing him to black out. She captured his mouth, kissing him desperately as the aftershocks rippled through her.

They barely registered the gust of wind that came in response to their combined climax. When Dean finally managed to open his eyes, he noticed the smell of smoke and looked up to find all of the candles and the brazier had been blown out. The symbol on her chest gave one final flicker before its light faded.

"I take it we did that right," he said with a smile, directing her gaze to the curls of smoke trailing from the tops of the candles.

Fiona laughed and nodded, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly as she caught her breath. "I'm no expert, but it felt pretty right to me."

Dean smirked and kissed her sweaty brow.

After a moment, she gazed up at him, bringing her hand up to run her fingers down the side of his face.

"Again?" She asked with a hopeful grin.

Dean laughed loudly at that. "I've created a monster, huh?"

"Only if this is the way you hunt me," she teased as her hand wandered over the contours of his bare, sweat-slick back.

Seeing the genuine eagerness in her eyes, Dean bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Hmm..." He glanced over at the door. "If we can pull it off...maybe we can get back to your room without them noticing."

"Sounds good to me. I'm assuming it'd be nicer to have sex on a bed instead of a table," she said, casting an annoyed glare down at the surface beneath her.

"Sold!" Dean declared, standing and pulling her up onto her feet.

They dressed quickly, laughing the entire time about their mission. He held her hand tightly as he slid the door open just far enough for them to slip through.

As stealthily as possible (which was pretty damned stealthy, given Dean's training and her inherent ability to move without making a sound), they made their way to the stairs leading up to her room.

They froze guiltily when they heard footsteps and voices approaching.

"...a damned good idea, Frank. You definitely got your old man's eye for detail," John was saying in an impressed tone.

"Figured you'd like that. Was thinking of the best way to take down a werewolf at a distance," Frank commented.

Dean's grip on Fiona's hand tightened when he saw them turning the corner in the distance. They weren't in his father's eye line yet, but Dean watched in disappointment as Frank focused on them.

Damn it. Busted.

Then, to Dean's complete surprise, Frank smirked and pretended not to see them.

With a confused frown, Dean glanced over at Fiona and found that she had been grinning ear to ear and pressing her finger to her lips.

Frank shook his head in amusement (and considerable relief) before snapping his fingers loudly, effectively drawing John's complete attention.

"Shit, I just remembered... There's this gun I was sketching a little while back, but I couldn't work out the best trigger placement. It's gonna be a multi-chamber, but I'm not sure how a hunter would want to hold it."

John's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. His expression, however, remained carefully blank.

"All right, let's see it then," he offered.

Dean fought to hold back a chuckle at his father's feigned nonchalance, waiting until the coast was clear before eagerly tugging Fiona's hand and leading her up the stairs.

* * *

**A/N:** Weeellll? What do you think? Hated it? Loved it? Favorite parts? Do you like this pairing? Let me know if you want to read more! (I may or may not already have the next five chapters written, and be waiting for your reviews on this before I start posting them... I know, I'm evil.)

**A/N 2:** Personally, I'm surprised by how much I adore this pairing. I created Fiona because I wanted a challenge. As my long-time readers know, virginal, fragile OFCs aren't exactly my forte ;) This chapter was, without a doubt, the most difficult smut I've ever written. It took a lot of thought and consideration to try and keep this equal parts sexy, sweet, and funny, whilst including some hesitation on her part. She's certainly proving to be the challenge I was looking for, and the more I write, the more I'm loving this chick and how well she fits with Dean. Just like the lyrics of 'Not Literally's song, "I don't care - I ship it!"


	6. Farewell, Fair Love

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**  
**August 2004**

"You know, I like your shower a hell of a lot better when you're in it with me," Dean purred as he carried her out of the bathroom.

She giggled against his lips and kissed him deeply. "Ditto. I'm never going to be able to look at that shower head again without thinking of you."

The majority of the day had passed in a haze of phenomenal sex. He'd taught her a hell of a lot in that time. And _DAMN_ was she a fast and eager learner.

He could barely move his legs or keep his balance at this point. Every muscle in his body was decidedly wobbly. Even his usual rigorous morning training regimen had not adequately prepared him for this girl's enthusiasm. If she gave that sexy little grin and asked, 'Again?' again, he'd be down to using his hands and mouth because she'd already depleted the rest of his arsenal.

He felt like Burt in Tremors 2, sinking down in exhaustion and declaring in astonished disbelief, "_I am __**completely**_ _out of ammo... That's never happened to me before_."

He needed to rest, but the knowledge that he'd have to leave soon kept him from giving in. There was no way he was going to miss a moment he could be spending making her smile or laugh or moan his name.

"I'm starving," she announced with a contented smile as he set her down on her feet. "Do you want something to eat? I can make us some dinner. What do you feel like having?"

Dean sank down onto the bed, drawing her by the hand to join him as he stretched out.

"I really don't want to go down there just yet," he confessed grudgingly.

"Why not?" Fiona asked, head tilted as she studied his face curiously.

"Because..." he began, but trailed off.

He swallowed hard when he met her trusting gaze. God, she was always so..._open_. How did she do that? And what would the world do to someone so painfully pure? And how was he supposed to go on hunting, just leave her standing in the red glow of the Impala's tail lights, knowing that he wouldn't be there to protect her from the cruelty that awaited her beyond these walls?

His chest tightened at the thought.

He fought to keep his growing sorrow from his expression (and actually managed it, for the most part), but he knew full-well that his eyes would give him away. He elected to study the pattern of her comforter instead of the intensity of her honest eyes.

He clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply through his nose before he went on.

"My Dad's gonna want to hit the road as soon as he hears we finished the spell, Fi," he managed in a slightly strained voice. "And when I say, 'as soon as,' I'm not even close to exaggerating. He's probably already pacing down there, chomping at the bit to get moving again. Hell, if gas wasn't so damned expensive, he'd have left the engines running this whole time."

He held his breath and waited.

She was silent for a long moment - long enough that he finally couldn't stand it any longer and had to look.

Fiona's face had gone pale. Her posture was rigid and her beautiful amber eyes shimmered brightly with unshed tears.

His heart sank at the sight. He instantly slid closer to her, running his hand through her hair and kissing her brow.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. You have _no idea_ how sorry I am," he assured. "Believe me, I'd love to just stay here in bed with you. Forget the rest of the world. But I've got a job to do. And no matter what I want... No matter how badly I want it... I don't get to take time off."

"Evil doesn't take a holiday, huh?" She asked with a pained smile and a sniffle.

He gave a weak smile of his own in response. "'fraid not."

She nodded and averted her eyes, picking at a loose string on her comforter.

It killed him to watch her try to reign in her emotions for his benefit. It made it worse that he realized she was taking his lead. The girl who was always so open about the way she felt - good, bad, and awkward - was now trying to don a mask to match his own.

Despite all her efforts, though, heavy tears rolled silently from her cheeks, falling to gather on the blanket.

"_Fi_..." he breathed remorsefully, at a loss for anything he could possibly say to make her feel better.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she finally lost her battle to hold back tears.

He pulled her closer, holding her tightly to his chest and shaking his head. "Please..._please_ don't apologize to me for the fact that I made you cry," he begged.

"I'm really trying not to," she assured in a whimper, her voice muffled beneath his chin.

"Don't." He insisted firmly. "Don't ever try to hide anything from me. You have no idea how beautiful it is that you're so real."

"What about sick days?" She asked suddenly.

He looked down at her curiously as she pulled away far enough to meet his gaze. She forced a smile despite her tearful eyes as he caught her meaning.

Dean stroked her cheek adoringly and smirked in appreciation of her words.

"Maybe evil could take a sick day, occasionally," he agreed.

"Or even a 3 day weekend, on rare occasion?"

"It's a distinct possibility," he chuckled.

"You know... We do have a pretty well-stocked hospital set up downstairs..." she added as he guided her to rest her head on his chest. "And if a certain hunter happened to be in the area and needed to be patched up..."

He smiled up at the ceiling and arched a brow, running his fingers through her hair as he considered it.

"You volunteering to play nurse for me, baby girl?"

She lifted her head to look him straight in the eyes as she replied sincerely, "I'm volunteering to be here for you, Dean, any time you can be here with me, whatever the circumstances."

Dean's expression became pained in response to the weight of her words. Having an open invitation to something this real...this comfortable and precious... Not just (seriously amazing) sex. But also, _companionship_. Trust. Contentment. It was more than he could dare to hope for in his life. She had no idea what the offer meant to him.

He whispered her name adoringly before crushing his lips against hers.

They postponed going downstairs for another few hours. Their hunger was ignored in favor of saying farewell slowly and sweetly, then quickly and desperately once he'd rested enough, then back to slowly and sweetly again.

When the time finally came to leave, Dean stood at the door of his Impala and struggled to force himself to climb in.

The Davies family was safe. They'd tested it out, just to be sure. They'd taken Mitch out to the middle of a graveyard and waited for several hours - armed to the teeth - to see if he drew notice from any of the things that go bump in the night. They didn't get so much as a nibble. The spell had worked.

Which meant Fiona was heading out into the world without him.

Dean's hand gripped the door handle of the Impala, but his knees were locked. He looked back to where she stood beside her father and brother.

Per Dean's request - Fiona wasn't trying to hide her tears. It killed him to see her pain. It took every ounce of his will-power not to run back and comfort her.

But Fiona didn't have Dean's will-power... Or his inherent need to meet the expectations of anyone.

With John, Mitch, and Frank watching, she abruptly raced out across the warehouse. Without a care for what anyone might think, she leapt into Dean's arms and kissed him deeply.

Dean closed his eyes and held her tightly, wincing at the overwhelming emotion of that moment. He kissed her back with just as much fervor, savoring the last moments of feeling her delicate hands cradling his cheeks, her soft hair framing his face, her sweet lips moving over his own as if they'd always belonged there.

He tried to block everything else for those fleeting seconds... Tried to ignore his father's disapproving clearing of throat... The glare he could almost feel burning a hole in the side of his head...

When Fiona pulled her lips from his, he kept his eyes closed for several seconds, not wanting to let go.

"You make sure evil takes sick days, Dean," she whispered with a sad smile as she pressed her forehead against his. "And I'll be waiting."

Driving away from that building, watching her reflection grow smaller in his rearview mirror, was the equivalent of slowly stabbing himself in the heart.

* * *

**A/N:** This was a short one, I know, but it was the best place to break up the chapters. Thoughts? Comments? Love? Hate? Be sure to let me know! Your feedback = my writing fuel! :)


	7. Crawling Back to You

**2 Years Later  
****On the Road to Nebraska  
****July 2006**

Dean stared blankly ahead as the Impala rumbled down the two-lane road. His mind slowly returned to the present, but his chest was still constricted with the emotions his memories had awoken.

He'd spent almost 2 years trying to tamp this thing down. Yet here it was again, swelling inside of him and threatening to spread a genuine smile across his lips.

He could still recall the taste of her.  
The feel of her warm, soft skin under his hands (they flexed involuntarily at the thought).  
The perfect-pink of her awkward blush.  
And, of course, her peachy-scent.

"Wow... so she was the little girl?" Sam asked, jarring him from his thoughts. "As in THE little girl? The one we never knew anything about?"

Dean cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, struggling to shake off the bone-deep ache for her that was awakening within him.

"Yeah. One and the same," he answered hoarsely.

"And you had sex with her?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean scowled and glanced over at his brother. "_Wow_. Thank you, Sammy, for asking those questions back to back. I had finally stopped feeling like a dirty old man over it, but you really brought it right back home for me."

"Dad seriously pimped you out," Sam laughed in astonishment.

"That's one way of looking at it," Dean granted with a shrug.

"That's how you looked at it," Sam reminded.

"At first, yeah. And it was, without a doubt, the most awkward conversation I ever had with Dad in my life. But it helped Fiona and her family, so what the hell? No harm done."

"Except a 16 year old losing her virginity because Dad ordered you to have sex with her."

"Okay, it sounds _unbelievably_ creepy when you say it like that."

"Say it in a way that's **not** creepy," Sam challenged.

Dean thought about it for a moment before grudgingly nodding that it was impossible.

"Okay, so you helped her back when she was a kid, and then you were her first. Is that why you're all...weird about her?"

"Stop it, Sammy."

"Stop what?"

"Stop fishing for a damned Hallmark moment."

"Now, why would broaching the subject of Fiona be rife with possibilities for a Hallmark moment?"

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head.

A moment passed in silence.

"She's not my type," he finally said.

Sam's face twisted in confusion at the seemingly random statement. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"I'm answering your question, Dr. Phil. She's not my type. That's the reason I'm 'all weird about her'."

"I don't follow."

"I've got two types, Sammy." He held up a hand and ticked off fingers to go with his list. "Type one - easy, sleazy, dirty fun."

"Your typical nightcap."

"Exactly," Dean agreed with a grin and held up a second finger. "Type two - sassy, confident, bad ass in her own right."

"And that would merit...what? A second night?" Sam teased.

"Maybe even a whole weekend - if she's lucky," Dean joked, but his smile slowly melted away. "And then there's Fiona."

Sam waited a moment in silence before realizing he'd lost Dean to his thoughts.

Clearing his throat, he prompted, "And Fiona is...?"

"Sure as shit not sleazy or bad ass," Dean muttered before drawing a hand over his mouth. The flask in his pocket was suddenly calling his name - more so when he realized the whiskey it contained was the same shade as Fiona's eyes. "She's... Innocent. Sweet. Maybe a little fragile, even."

Something about the way he said it caught Sam off guard. He frowned and looked over at his brother, trying to read between the lines.

Sam might tease Dean for being a man-whore, but at the end of the day, he knew his brother had a good heart. He didn't hurt people intentionally. His partners were either well aware of what they were getting into or far too strong and independent to be broken up when he didn't call afterwards. Dean's 'types' were the kind that wouldn't be hurt by his need to leave town in the morning.

'And then there's Fiona.'

From what (admittedly little) he'd been told, Sam gathered that this girl had been sheltered for her safety and, as a result, remained untainted by the world. A literal wide-eyed virgin. Someone easily hurt. Someone his big-damned-hero of a big brother would instinctively want to protect. Someone he wouldn't want to leave behind like the rest. But wait...

"When's the last time you two spoke?" Sam asked, getting a bad feeling suddenly.

"Haven't talked to her since all that happened."

"Like not even on the phone?" Sam demanded in astonishment. "Why? She's 'innocent', 'sweet', and 'maybe a little fragile', you clearly care about her, but you still ditched her the morning after? That makes no sense. Why would you do that?"

Dean shrugged self consciously.

Sam narrowed his eyes on his brother and he got a familiar twist in his gut. He knew that shrug. He'd seen it a million times over the years. It was the shrug Dean gave when he secretly disagreed with Dad, but still refused to speak out against or disobey his orders.

"Dad told you to stay away." Sam stated without a doubt, trying not to sound pissed. He failed miserably.

"I'm not exactly her type, either." Dean offered half-heartedly. "It's not like there was anything going on between us. It was just for a spell. She was better off with me staying as far away as possible."

"It's like your lips are moving, but I can hear Dad talking..." Sam mused bitterly. He could hear it plainly in his brother's voice. Dean might be regurgitating the lines fed to him by their father, but they were hollow - he clearly couldn't even convince himself of their truth.

Dean clenched his jaw, but said nothing in response. He fought to keep any traces of emotion from his expression as the memory replayed in his mind.

**-SPN-**

**Thief River Falls, Minnesota  
****October 2004  
****(**_**2 Months Since Dean Last Saw Fiona**_**)**

Dean watched his father slide unsteadily from his truck and tried to mask his concern.

John had been injured on a hunt the day prior, and Dean had barely finished patching him up when the phone rang. His father had answered the call, walked outside to speak to whoever it was, then stalked back into the motel room and immediately grabbed his keys. He left Dean orders to stay where he was, that he'd be back within a day or two. No explanation, as always.

And now here he was. Looking furious, stressed to the max, and smelling like a bar. How he'd managed to drive was a mystery. He looked like he was barely able to stand.

Dean walked over to his father and offered a hand steadying him, which - of course - John brushed aside.

"You good, Dad? Cuz, I gotta be honest, you sort of look like shit," he joked to cover his worry.

"Fine, Dean. Just lemme get inside," his Dad managed with only a slight slur.

Dean grudgingly nodded before moving to close his father's truck door. His hand stilled on the door frame when he glanced down on the front seat.

There, right out in the open to make Dean's stomach drop, was a new box of silver ammo - a box bearing the unmistakable maker's-mark of Mitch Davies.

He froze as he stared down at it. Slowly, he reached out and picked up the box, hating that he could see his father's posture stiffen guiltily out of the corner of his eye.

He held up the ammo, fighting to keep any emotion from his voice as he spoke.

"You went to see them? But... Why wouldn't you tell me?" He asked with a humorless laugh and shrug of his shoulders. "I could've come with you."

It went unsaid that the only reason Dean wanted to go was to see Fiona again. There was no need to voice it.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and his expression instantly hardened.

"Is that who called?" Dean asked, fighting back anger as he realized that his father had intentionally left him behind - had planned on never saying anything about where he'd been. "Did you know that's where you were heading when you left?" He pressed, his tight grip on his anger starting to slip.

John gave his son a weary, frustrated glare as he reached out and grabbed the box of ammo. He tossed it back into the truck before slamming the door.

"She doesn't want to see you, Dean," he declared unexpectedly.

"What?" Dean asked with wide eyes, wholly confused by his father's words. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't..?"

"Because she's _with_ somebody." His father snapped coldly. "Somebody who's actually _good_ for her. Let's face it, son. You ain't exactly her type."

Dean flinched before staggering back a step as if he'd been punched in the gut.

The words echoed through his head, reverberated through his chest, tore out the stitches Fiona had used to hold the fragments of his shattered heart together.

He felt sick. He didn't want to hear any more. _Couldn't_ hear any more.

But his father was pissed, tired, drunk as hell, and not nearly finished driving his point home.

"That girl's got a new, normal life for herself. And _you_, Dean...?" John snarled with a smile. "And _all_ the shit we hunt...? Just ain't a part of it any more, got it?" He started to stalk past, but stopped just beside Dean, grabbing his arm hard enough to bruise before adding harshly, "Do her a favor, boy. Leave her the hell alone."

Dean watched in shock as his father stormed into their motel room and slammed the door.

He stood there, in the freezing rain in the poorly lit parking lot, trying to remember how to breathe. It was easy, right? Natural process. Did it all the time. Shouldn't even require any thought.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.  
In... How could she have already just moved on like that?  
Out... It had only been two months!  
In... She knew how fucked up he was over losing Sammy.  
Out... And now she was going to shut him out, too?  
In... She'd promised to be there for him.  
Out... 'Whatever the circumstances.'  
In... And he'd actually _trusted_ her.  
In... Actually _lov_-  
In...  
In...  
In...  
IN...  
**IN...**

He choked back the sob that threatened to tear its way from his throat. He gritted his teeth so hard it hurt and willed away the tears that blurred his vision. He put his hands on his hips, braced his trembling sides, and fought the urge to drop to his knees.

He had to run.

He had to get away.

He had to make this latest pain STOP before it could break him.

Thirty hazy minutes later, he was seated at a dive bar down the street, already four double-shots into being fall-down, black-out drunk. Carefully walling up the memories of his time with Fiona, he tried to decide which he wanted more - to start a fight with the drunken rednecks at the pool table or take the bleach-blonde bartender up on those fuck-me looks she'd been throwing his way since he walked through the door.

**-SPN-**

**On the Road to Nebraska  
****July 2006  
**_**(23 Months, 2 Weeks, 5 days, 18 hours Since Dean Last Saw Fiona)**_

Dean took a deep breath, blinking to clear his vision as his thoughts returned from the painful memory. He glanced over at Sam, finding that his little brother was so irritated at this point, he hadn't noticed Dean's brief wounded daze.

"Unbe_lievabl_e," Sam sighed furiously. If looks could kill, then the glare he was shooting out the passenger side window would have been leveling every tree in the forest as it whipped past. "First he makes you sleep with this girl, then he has you cut all ties just in case you fall in love with her!" He cried in outrage.

"Hey, nobody said I was ever 'in love' with her," Dean declared (a bit too) quickly. "It wasn't like that. It was more..." He trailed off, trying to think of the best way to word his rebuttal.

Unfortunately, he paused long enough for his brother to pounce.

"So you're... MORE... than 'in love' with her?" Sam tentatively prompted, unsure if Dean even realized what he'd just said. He also chose to ignore his brother's repeated attempts to refer to his feelings in the past tense.

"What?" Dean asked distractedly before catching how his words had been misinterpreted. "That is not what I said."

Sam merely arched a brow in response, causing Dean to huff in frustration.

"All right, fine! That's what I said, but not what I meant. I was gonna say it was more... I don't know... more comfortable than that, I guess, if that makes any sense."

"So you love her, but you're not 'in love' with her," Sam concluded.

Dean curled his lip. He slowly turned his gaze away from the road to stare at his brother with an expression akin to abject horror. How did Sam always manage to turn every normal conversation into a Lilith Fair?

"Are you freaking _menstruating_ over there?!" He demanded indignantly.

"Just think about it!" Sam laughed.

"Think about what? The fact that my Sasquatch of a brother has finally femmed himself out to the point where he's getting his period?"

"Do you love me?"

Dean's eyes almost popped out of his head at that.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" He sputtered in a nearly shrill tone.

"A pretty simple one."

"A pretty _stupid_ one."

"That you're rather deliberately not answering."

"It's a different subject entirely."

"No, it isn't. I'm demonstrating a point."

"That you're a royal pain in my ass?"

"You were in love with Cassie."

"_HEY!_" Dean shouted and smacked his hand on the steering wheel hard enough to make Sam jump. "You are WAY out of bounds."

He reached for the radio, planning to drown out Sam's voice with some AC/DC.

Sam was one step ahead of him, though. As quickly as he could, he snatched the cassette from the tape deck and tossed it into the backseat. The risky move earned him a murderous glare from Dean. He made a mental note to check his shampoo bottles for Nair for the next month.

"Just...hear me out, okay?" Sam pleaded. "I won't say the 'C' word again, I promise."

Dean ignored him entirely, instead leaning forward in his seat and intently scanning the side of the road.

Unable to ignore his curiosity, Sam followed his gaze after a moment, trying to figure out what he was seeing.

"What are you looking at?" He finally asked.

"I'm trying to find a good spot to dump your body." Dean answered dryly.

"Very funny." Sam grumbled. "Look, I'm just illustrating the difference between the two. You can be 'in love' with somebody, like you were with..." he trailed off, waiting for Dean to glance over at him in acknowledgement. "And you can love somebody, like me."

"Whoever said I love your lanky ass?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Certainly not a 'manly man' such as yourself."

Dean suppressed a smirk. "And don't you forget it...bitch."

"Jerk." Sam responded with a smile. "So, you love Fiona."

"No intention of stepping away from that dead horse, huh, Sammy?" Dean asked. He looked over at his brother and sighed seeing the determination in his eyes. "Ugh. Fine. So, what? Your brilliant theory here is that I feel the same way about Fiona as I do about you?"

"More or less."

"I didn't screw you, Sam."

"No, you did not, Dean." Sam laughed.

"I have no intention of _ever_ screwing you."

"Good to know."

"So how the hell do you figure it's the same thing?"

Sam thought for a moment of the best way to drive his point home.

"Okay, got it," he announced, turning slightly in his seat to face his brother. "What if when we get where we're going tomorrow, you walk in the door and it's too quiet. The power's cut. We spread out to search for Fiona, but when you find her, another rogue hunter has her knocked out and tied up, about to take her to use as bait?"

Instantly, Dean's brows drew together, nostrils flared, jaw clenched furiously, and hands formed a white-knuckled-grip on the steering wheel in response.

Sam pointed at the look on Dean's face. "There! That feeling you just got - ?"

"The urge to **kill** something?" Dean snarled. "That ain't love."

"From you it is," Sam assured, smiling at memories of his brother saving his ass countless times over the years. "And you didn't just want to kill something. I could see it in your eyes. You get that same look when somebody tries to hurt me."

His brother would only fight him if he tried to put words to that familiar look. It was fear. Fear for his safety and desperation to protect him from harm.

Dean grunted in response, but said nothing.

The car fell silent after that, and Sam let it. He knew his brother had a hell of a lot to think about.

* * *

**A/N:** What do you think? Ooohh, I know John was a rotten bastard in this chapter. Love it? Hate it? Did any parts hit you right in the Dean-feels? Want to throttle John? Want to know WTF about Fiona? Feedback = love! Be sure to let me know if you want to read more :)


	8. When It Rains

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**  
**July 2006**

Dean fought back his warring excitement and dread as the massive garage doors slowly opened to grant them entry. He allowed Baby to coast into the building, bringing her to a halt and trying to ignore that it was the same exact place he'd parked the last time he'd been here.

"Wow. This place is really something, huh?" Sam marveled as they climbed from the Impala. His eyes scanned the walls and ceiling, eagerly cataloging the origins of every familiar rune and glyph, memorizing each unfamiliar one he came across so that he could research them later.

"Try not to have a total geek-out," Dean groused.

Sam merely cast him a knowing look and smirk in response. He could tell exactly how nervous his brother was to be seeing Fiona again. His repeated attempts to get a rise out of Sam were just a means of distracting himself.

Dean frowned down at the massive painted and carved symbol they had just driven over. It filled the entire garage entrance. He crouched down beside it and ran his fingers over the mark. Devil's Trap. Damned good one, too.

"_Huh...that's new_," he muttered to himself curiously.

"Well, fuck me runnin'," a gruff voice called from overhead. "Look what the cat finally dragged in."

The brothers looked up to find the imposing form of Frank watching them.

Dean paled considerably at the amount of muscle mass Frank had accumulated since they'd last seen one another. His heavily tattooed forearms (the ink was definitely new) were draped over the railing of the catwalk, looking about as thick as Dean's thighs. His alarmingly-wide shoulders were hunched wearily, making his exhaustion apparent even at this distance. His hardened expression, however tired, was the same as Dean remembered it. It pretty clearly stated, '_There's a distinct possibility that I'm going to rip your arms off and beat you to death with them for touching my little sister_.'

"Frank," Dean greeted with a toss of his head. "My, my... I see _someone's_ been eating their Wheaties," he teased, batting his eyelashes coquettishly and flashing a (slightly anxious) grin.

Frank rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"And I see you're still a smart-mouthed SOB," he declared before standing up straight and slowly making his way down the metal stairs.

Sam was opened-mouth gaping at the behemoth lumbering his way toward them. Dean reached over and smacked him on the chest to snap him out of it.

"_That_...is Fiona's big brother?" Sam whispered, suddenly worried for Dean's safety - as well as his own, because, let's face it, behemoth or no, he'd have to jump in and at least _try_ to help his brother.

"Uh...yeeaahhh." Dean replied, struggling to keep his growing dread from his expression. "Her welder... mechanic... fourth-generation munitions-master big brother."

"Great," Sam huffed angrily. "So he can either crush every bone in your body with his bare hands, or build a weapon to do it for him. That's just _great_, Dean."

The brothers stood rigidly when Frank came to a halt in front of them.

His jaw flexed as he studied Dean appraisingly. After a long, entirely too-tense moment, he finally reached out a gargantuan paw and grabbed Dean's hand to shake in greeting.

"How ya been?" He asked with a sigh.

Dean let out a loud, relieved exhale. "Livin' the dream. You?"

Frank shrugged. "Not so much. But you'll hear all about that soon enough." He turned his attention to Sam, giving him a quick once-over before asking, "You the kid brother?"

Sam extended his hand in greeting. "Sam Winchester. Nice to meet you, Frank."

"Your Pops around?" Dean asked, getting a bad feeling at his marked absence.

Frank's nostrils flared and he swallowed hard. "Dad died about...fuck, I guess 2 days ago? 3 maybe? I dunno, it's all sorta blending together at this point."

"Jesus, I'm sorry, man. The curse?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Nah, that's the messed up part. Drunk driver. You believe that shit?" Frank asked with a bitter laugh. "But I guess him dying... It must have been enough to give the curse a reboot or something, cause we're right back at the bottom of the freaky-shit food-chain. Lost my Aunt a few hours after Dad. Cops still ain't listing an official cause of death, which means they ain't got a clue what got her. Cousin didn't make it here, either. No word on what happened to him."

Dean fought to keep the panic from his voice. "You said Fiona found out the hard way... Is she-?" he started, but stopped abruptly when he heard her gasp.

He turned and found himself staring into those amber eyes for the first time in 2 years. It felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of him.

He had been kidding himself to say he wasn't in love with her...in addition to loving her. (Stupid Sammy with his evaluation of his feelings...) He may have managed to successfully lock it down - with the aid of alcohol and many, _many_ women - but the old wound of being shut out by Fiona was still just as open, just as raw. He looked into her eyes and could feel the heat of her mouth against his skin, the softness of her hands on his back...

"Hey, Fi," he greeted with a warm smile, his voice coming out hoarse and strained despite his best efforts.

She was gorgeous. Even more beautiful than before. Her curves were fuller, her face just a bit more mature. He noted that her pallor was off and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes, but he chalked that up to exhaustion and grief over the death of her father. What he couldn't find an explanation for, however, was the way she was currently staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Instead of the blush he'd come to adore, her face turned white as a sheet.

He frowned as she continued to gape at him with something that looked remarkably like panic and fear twisting her delicate features.

"Fi? You all right?" He asked anxiously.

"Dean..." She breathed in disbelief. Her panicked gaze suddenly swept to her brother's face. "Frank...what did you do?" She asked fearfully.

Sam and Dean exchanged a concerned glance, neither having a clue as to what was happening here.

"Not my fault, Fiona," Frank sighed.

"Where's John? Does he know about this?" She demanded of her brother.

"Our Dad died 2 months ago," Sam offered. He tried to get a read on her expression when she turned her attention to him.

It looked like she was going to pass out in response to that news. Before Dean or Sam could make a move, Frank had already rushed over to steady her.

"Easy, sis. Take it easy," he urged quietly.

She leaned in closer to her brother, whispering to him and casting full-on terrified glances over his shoulder at Dean and Sam.

Dean was at a complete loss for what the hell was happening here. He focused all of his attention on the occasional hissed words he could make out, trying to come up with enough clues to piece together an explanation. He didn't get much.

"..._can't be here...no...you _know _what John said...can't risk it...too dangerous...please don't do this_..."

Frank's replies were easier to catch, as they were not nearly as quiet, but his words were kept intentionally vague in case he was overheard.

"..._don't you think this has gone on long enough?...And he's _dead_, Fiona. They _both _are...I've had enough...can't keep this up...Fiona...__**please**_ _don't ask me to do this alone_."

That last part was said with such emotion, it caught Dean off guard. There was a ring to Frank's words that made it clear just how important they were.

In response, Fiona's features instantly softened sympathetically. She frowned up at her brother and closed her eyes, apparently struggling with the decision. Finally, she nodded and muttered something - possibly the terms of her agreement to whatever he was asking.

With a deep breath, she looked over at the brothers...but she caught them both by surprise when she said, "Sam? Can I speak to you for a moment?"

Sam's eyes widened and he immediately looked to Dean for some indication of what he was supposed to do.

Dean, just as confused and shocked as his little brother, could only incline his head slightly in reply.

"Uh...yeah, sure. No problem," Sam stammered before moving to follow her.

Dean sank back onto the hood of the Impala as he watched them go. Whatever was happening, he got the distinct impression that he needed to be sitting down.

Frank took one look at him and gave a sympathetic half-smile. He walked over and leaned against the side of the car, keeping his eyes locked on Fiona and Sam in the distance.

"This is a long damned time coming." Frank declared, his tone heavy with a mix of bone-weary exhaustion and - at the same time - immense relief.

Dean barely heard him. He was entirely focused on Sam's face in the distance. He could tell the exact moment when his brother had been given an explanation for all the current weirdness. All the color drained from Sam's face. He looked like he might pass out or throw up, but couldn't decide between the two. His eyes instantly sought out Dean, and the level of emotion they conveyed chilled Dean to the core.

Sam was talking now. He was adamant about whatever he was saying. And there was fury in his expression, slowly making its way into his eyes and the hard set of his square jaw.

At least Dean knew for sure what that look was - it was the 'Dad just royally pissed off Sammy' look. Dean had seen that very same expression the day their father declared Sam was forbidden to leave for Stanford. It was a mix between anger, heartbreak, and unbending determination to go against their father's orders, no matter the cost.

Sammy's voice was rising now - not screaming _at_ Fiona, but damned near screaming _to_ her.

"_You need to __**tell**_ _him! Right now!...Yeah? Well, I don't care what _John _said!_..."

Ooh.

Dean winced.

Dad was 'John' now? Shit was serious.

"_You wanted my opinion? That's it...My father was an idiot. Your brother is right. This has gone on long enough_."

"That kid brother of yours is a pretty smart guy," Frank commented with a smirk in response to Sam's shouted words.

Dean watched with growing dread as Sam turned and started the slow walk back. Fiona followed along behind him, eyes downcast and looking for all the world like she would burst into tears any second.

He wanted to go to her - find out what was wrong and try to make it better. But he had no clue why she was so freaked out by his presence. Fear gripped him that maybe her side of their time together hadn't been as enjoyable? Maybe he'd done something wrong to make her afraid of him? The thought turned his stomach and made it difficult to even breathe.

Fiona came to stand beside her brother, leaning against him and obviously seeking support for what was to come. Sam took up a similar position beside Dean, though he was obviously there to offer support, instead of receive it.

Dean swallowed hard before commenting with a forced smile, "Wow...why do I get the feeling my parade is about to be seriously rained on?"

"Dean...there's something... I need to tell you something," Fiona whispered.

"I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, darling, but I'd gathered that much," he assured anxiously.

"When you were here last time... You should know the spell worked. It really worked," she said with a grateful smile. "We were able to go out, Dean. I actually got to go to the park and sit outside. I hadn't been able to feel the sun for so long... But a few weeks later I... Well, I found out I was pregnant."

Was he sitting? He thought he had been, but it felt as if his body was trying to sink down even further beneath him. He was vaguely aware of Sam's hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Come again?" He breathed as he stared at her in shock.

"Pregnant. Knocked up. With child. Expecting. Carrying your kid," Frank offered impatiently.

"Thanks, I think I got it," Dean choked out.

Fiona cast her brother a pleading look. "Frank. Stop it."

Frank grumbled angrily under his breath about getting on with it, but settled down.

Averting her eyes, Fiona went on. "My family had me back in this building so fast..." She shook her head and sighed. "I called the number we had to reach your father. He said that you weren't available, but that he could get a message to you. I told him that I was pregnant and he... well, he got really quiet. He said he'd see me soon and the next night, he showed up here. His arm was all bandaged up. Apparently, he'd walked away from a hunt to get here."

Dean felt rage start to boil in his blood as sickening realization hit.

_The time his father had come to see the Davies family on the sly... When he had told Dean that Fiona was with somebody new and that he needed to stay away from her_...

Fiona's voice pulled him back from his inner revelations and painful memories.

"He didn't say anything to me, just went straight into the office with my Dad. I know they were arguing. When he came out, he just looked at me and got into his truck. I didn't know what was going on. My Dad stayed in his office. I guess he didn't want to face me. John came back a couple hours later, though. I'm guessing he hit the bar down the road so he could think things over."

Sam couldn't hold back a disgusted and bitter laugh at that, but managed to keep his mouth shut otherwise.

Fiona cast Sam a nervous glance before her eyes returned to the floor. She looked like she was desperately fighting the urge to run away.

Instead, she cleared her throat and forced herself to continue, despite the tears in her eyes.

"He sat me down and told me that I couldn't tell you about the baby, Dean. Said that your family had a curse of its own to deal with. That the demon that had killed your mother was still out there. That the fewer people knew you had a child, the safer it would be. He said that he was closing in on the demon, but that it wouldn't be safe to tell you until after the thing was dead. That finding out about the baby would just knock your head out of the game and get you killed. He promised that the second it was safe, he'd bring you here."

Dean only noticed just how badly his hands were shaking when he drew one roughly over his mouth.

"And you... um..." He had to clear his throat of the emotion that was constricting his voice before he could continue. He couldn't bring himself to look at Fiona directly. "You never talked to him again after that?"

With every ounce of self restraint he could summon, he fought back his growing outrage. The fury he felt for his father in that moment was at an entirely new level. This went beyond not supporting Sam's decision to go to college. This was about lying to separate family...DEAN's family... It was his father making a decision he had no right to make.

Dean's mind was reeling from the betrayal he felt. It was now screaming for an explanation as to why Fiona hadn't reached out - why she had accepted his father's word as a good enough excuse to never try and reach him again.

And then the self-hate came. How could he fault her for it? Hadn't he done the same thing? Hadn't he let his father manipulate him into never reaching out to Fiona again? Hadn't John played to Dean's fears that he wasn't good enough in order to keep them apart?

"He stayed in touch," Fiona answered. "He was at the hospital the night I had the baby."

Dean leaned heavily against Sam in response to her words.

The _baby_.

She had the baby.

There was a baby.

He was just getting over the mental shock of hearing that he'd gotten her pregnant. And now...there was a baby.

_Oh, God_.

With the hand on Dean's shoulder gripping tightly in support, Sam looked to Fiona.

"Is it...?" Sam began hoarsely, but had to stop and try again. "Boy or girl?"

Fiona smiled then for the first time since their arrival. "Boy."

The weight of that settled heavily on the brothers and they leaned against one another equally for support. A boy. Another Winchester boy in the world. They weren't a family of two any more. Dean had a son. Sam had a nephew.

Their rat bastard of a father had a grandson he hadn't felt the need to share...

"His name is Gunner," she offered softly.

Dean looked up at her in awe in response.

Fiona shrugged self-consciously under the power of his gaze. "I figured he had to have a tough name. He is _your_ son, after all, and a member of _your_ family. Couldn't exactly name him Teddy or Francis or something, right? Your Dad wouldn't let me officially name him Winchester until after you were here to keep him safe. But I wanted him to have a link to you, so his birth certificate says, 'Gunner Cash Campbell'."

Dean's brows drew together as his eyes filled with tears.

"_Mom_..." Sam breathed before he could catch himself.

"I gave him your mother's maiden name - listed you as 'Dean Campbell'. John didn't fight me on that, at least," she explained. "Now that you're here, we'll need to change it to Gunner Cash Winchester."

Dean drew in a long, deep breath in response to hearing his son officially named for the first time.

Frank leaned in and grinned. "I pushed for Cash. Put a little Johnny in there. You're welcome," he said with a wink.

Dean nodded distractedly, but could barely form a thought in that moment. It was too much. Too much fear and joy and heartbreak and betrayal and..._hope_, maybe? He wasn't familiar enough with it to know if he was identifying it properly.

Sam's grip on his shoulder tightened as if he could read his brother's mind.

"You said John stayed in touch?" He asked, and felt Dean's shoulder tense at his repeated decision to call their father by his first name.

"Yes," Fiona answered, eager to explain everything now that she had started. "He always called to check in, even showed up unannounced any time he was in the area. Frank and I rented a nice, big, 4 bedroom house not too far from here - with a big backyard and swings and everything. John wasn't happy about it, of course. Tried to talk me out of it. We let him come and secure the place - even beyond all the wards we'd already put up ourselves - but I refused to give in and keep Gunner locked up inside this building. I just wanted him to have a normal childhood."

Sam gave a haunted smile at those words. A '_normal childhood_'... Apparently too much to ask for when you're a Winchester.

"A few days before Gunner turned 6 months old, John showed up at our door at 2:00 AM, armed to the teeth, and told us we needed to come stay here for a while," Frank said. "It was pretty clear it wasn't optional. He drew Devil's Traps everywhere. Must have put down over 200 pounds of salt. Stayed for a week, never let Fiona or Gunner out of his sight, said maybe ten words to any of us the whole time."

Fiona nodded at the memory. "He was just... _waiting_ for something to happen. It scared the heart out of me. He seemed kind of relieved and disappointed when the week passed without incident. He left and went back to calling every other day. But then, a few months ago, he just stopped calling all together. Stopped answering our calls. I didn't know what to do."

Dean felt sick now. His Dad had been here, waiting for the yellow-eyed-demon, thinking it would come and try to kill Fiona...try to harm or take Dean's **son**...but he had never said a word about it to Dean. Had never given him the opportunity to try and protect them himself. Had - what? Figured if they died and Dean didn't know, that would make it better?

He officially needed some time to process everything he'd just been told before he could take in any more.

Leaning forward, Dean rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his face into his hands. He cleared his throat and rubbed his temples and eyes as if trying to ease a headache, but Sam had a pretty good idea of what Dean was really covering with his hands.

"Do you think... Could you give us a few?" Sam asked, knowing his brother was staving off a breakdown.

Fiona reached out and grabbed her brother's hand. She struggled for a moment to find her voice.

Sam winced sympathetically upon reading the sorrow and regret in her expression. His dismissal of her clearly wounded her. She likely feared it was a prelude of things to come.

"Sure...just... I'm _so_ sorry, Dean," she assured in a breaking voice. "I can't tell you how much I wanted to..." she sobbed before catching herself and whispering sincerely. "I'm sorry."

She turned and walked away, and Sam gripped his brother's shoulder as Dean's entire body went rigid with the effort it took to hold it together.

* * *

**A/N:** Thoughts? Comments? Hate? Love? Want more? Want to cuddle Dean? Want to kick John's ass? Be sure to let me know! Without feedback from you, I don't have inspiration to write! :)

**A/N 2:** I should point out that this was posted 2 days earlier than I planned as a result of beckychelle's review on Chapter 7 ;) I know a lot of readers probably had their suspicions, but I didn't want people kicking around the idea of Fiona being pregnant too much before they read this chapter LOL


	9. Be Here Now

Dean was quiet for several moments after Fiona and Frank left. Sam was content to leave him be - just held his tongue while Dean worked through it all.

After a while, Dean shifted and sat up straighter, having apparently managed to process things (at least somewhat). He finally glanced over at Sam and forced a weak attempt at a smart-assed smile.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," he declared.

Sam frowned over at his brother in confusion. "How?"

"Holding it in," Dean answered.

With a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, Sam asked innocently, "What am I holding in?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Aww, come on, Sammy. We both know damned well that you're just dying to dust off your old '_Dad's a dick_' pompoms and lead the cheer."

Sam shrugged. "Figure he did a pretty good job rallying the team on his own. Doesn't need my help this time."

Dean grunted his agreement before falling silent again for a few moments.

"Why'd he do it?" He finally sighed, sounding more drained and unsure than Sam could ever recall.

Arching a brow, Sam asked, "You want the '_Dad's a dick_' answer, or an attempted explanation for his warped reasoning?"

Dean smirked. "The second one, I guess."

"Well..." Sam breathed. "The pissed-off side of me swears he only did it because he was a mean, selfish bastard who didn't want you to have an ounce of happiness or a life of your own..."

Dean laughed bitterly at that.

Smiling sadly at his brother, Sam went on. "But that's not Dad. Not really. He obviously thought he was doing the right thing. I didn't understand it when we were growing up or, honestly, until after he died, but I know now that he lived life according to his own skewed moral compass. As much as I hated 99 percent of the shit he pulled, it was never done with the intention of hurting us."

Dean scowled at that and gave his brother a side-eyed glance. "Never thought I'd say this, but I'm kinda missing your pompoms and Dad-hate right now."

Sam chuckled and toed a rough patch on the concrete floor. "I bet. But it's not what you really need to hear. Just take my word, if I were to voice even a quarter of the things I'm thinking about Dad right now, you'd give me the silent treatment for a month, THEN kick my ass."

Dean smiled weakly and nodded. "Thanks, Sammy. I appreciate it," he offered roughly.

"Don't mention it," Sam answered. "I guess... I guess he must have really believed that line he gave Fiona. He figured it was safer for your son to stay here, behind all the wards and spells, with as few people as possible knowing about him. Less people know, less likely it is for the demon to find out about him. And I guess he just figured it was safer for you to be out there hunting without the distraction."

Dean's features hardened furiously as he climbed to his feet.

"My son would be a distraction? My _son_?! Who gave him the right to make that decision, Sam?" He demanded, his voice steadily rising to a near-deafening level. "Who gave him the right to keep this from me? _**I**_ should have _**been**_ here! _**I**_ should have been the one protecting them - _**not**_ him!"

Sam held up his hands placatingly and spoke in a quiet tone. "I'm not Dad, Dean. I know he's not here, but I can't argue his side to you in his place. I don't really believe any of this shit, I'm just playing devil's advocate because you asked me to."

Slowly, Dean's expression began to soften. He finally shook his head in frustration and turned away.

"Yeah... I know. I'm sorry, dude."

"No problem," Sam assured, watching his brother cautiously. That much pent-up fury with no way to let it out was never good, but his brother was nothing if not a master of walling up anger and pain.

Dean stared up at the ceiling for several moments before finally grinding out with a bitter smile, "It figures though, right? '_We're safer when we're apart_' was pretty much his theme song there at the end."

Closing his eyes, he fought down another wave of pure rage. His father had manipulated him again - that was hardly news. But this time, he'd also manipulated Fiona. _Dean's_ Fiona.

'_It's only ever been you_,' her voice whispered sweetly and sincerely from his memories. '_There's no one else.'_

His fists clenched furiously.

The blushing, trusting, honest girl who had given him the world in her arms... The innocent 16 year old who had been pregnant with his child and probably scared out of her mind... And when she needed Dean most, his douche-bag of a father had kept her away, left her terrified that Dean would find out about their child before it was 'safe,' played to her fears of any harm befalling Dean or their son.

His brows drew together as he winced remorsefully for what she had gone through without him.

_God help him, how was he ever going to make this right?_

Taking a deep breath, he strengthened his resolve and swore to himself that he would find a way. No matter how hard it was or how long it took, he would make things right between them. They were a _family_ now, after all (he laughed in amazement at that thought), and there was nothing in this world that could break the bond of family for Dean. Nothing he wouldn't do for the mother of his child.

His sweet, soft, loving Fiona was...a _Mother_ now.

That realization awed him - filled him with devotion and reverence. In his eyes, Mother was as deserving of a capital-M as most people thought God was of a capital-G. It was as if, by having and caring for his child, she'd ascended to another level in his eyes. She was even more precious, even more pure.

Sam gave his brother another long moment before asking gently, "So... You ready to go meet him? Your...son?" He couldn't help the smile that came to his lips at those words. Dean's _son_. Dean was a _father_.

Dean turned to look at Sam over his shoulder. There was something shining brightly in his gaze that Sam was wholly unfamiliar with. He struggled to identify it before it could be hidden away. It was a harsh reminder of how messed up their lives were when he finally recognized the unknown emotion as joy.

"Yeah." Dean said with a nod and a warm, genuine smile. "Yeah, I am definitely ready."

Frank met them halfway when they set out for the living areas.

After eyeing Dean appraisingly, he asked, "How you holding up there, 'Dad'?"

Dean had no idea where to even begin answering that question, so he opted for giving a nod in response.

"That good, huh?" Frank asked with a knowing smile. "Yeah, can't really say I blame you... But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I busted your Pops' face up pretty damned bad the day Gunner was born."

Sam's eyes widened. His head swiveled toward Frank in astonishment before he burst out laughing.

"Really?" Dean asked in surprise, unable to contain the smile that stole across his lips.

Frank nodded. "Yep. John felt the need to reiterate to Fiona - right after she'd pushed out your kid, mind you - that she couldn't ever try to contact you. In response, I felt the need to break his jaw and rearrange his face." He shrugged. "Figured since he didn't make an effort to contain his compulsions, why should I?"

"Wish I could've seen that," Dean chuckled. He scanned his memories, realizing his father's busted face was the real reason behind one of his extended 'solo hunts'.

"I can assure you, there ain't no way in hell he opened that eye or chewed right for a good _loonnng_ while after I was done with him. Bastard didn't fight me back, though," Frank recalled in mild disappointment. "Took a lot of the satisfaction out of it...but not all. Guess he'd kinda resigned himself to being on the receiving end of a lot of hate for what he was doin'. In his mind, I suppose he just figured it was worth it."

Frank led them into a room that had started off as a library, but was now cluttered with the telltale signs of a baby. Blankets and burp cloths, toys and a changing table in the corner. Dean took a seat and tried to mask his overwhelming excitement and sorrow.

All of this stuff belonged to his kid. _Exciting_.

He had no idea which of the toys was Gunner's favorite. _Sorrow_.

"Gunner's just waking up from a pretty decent nap, so he'll be raring to go. Get ready," Frank laughed, clearing aside a few noisy toys before sitting down heavily. "We kept this place stocked with his stuff. Gonna need some more supplies, though. Kid grows like a weed. Ain't exactly coming from small stock, if any one of us is an indication. Half the stuff we have is already too small for him. Looks like you boys are going on a clothes and diaper run later," he said with a wink.

"Yeah. _Yeah_, man. Anything he needs," Dean agreed eagerly. He clasped his hands to keep them from shaking and waited.

Before long, he heard a high pitched giggle and babbling coming down the hall.

He froze and watched, beyond astounded, as Gunner toddled in somewhat unsteadily. Fiona followed closely behind, just in case he took a tumble before he could reach the carpeting.

Dean couldn't keep the tears from his eyes as he stared at the boy. He had his mother's warm complexion and amber eyes, but the rest was all Dean. Dark blonde hair and full lips, the same spark of mischief in his gaze.

Sam let out a laugh of amazement upon seeing his nephew for the first time. "Dean, dude... He's a mini-you."

Gunner's eyes went to the two new faces and he instantly tried to race over to them. His little legs didn't cooperate, though, and he ended up on his hands and knees on the carpet. Before Dean could move to help, the boy quickly righted himself and stood up again.

"_Hey_, buddy!" Dean greeted with a grin, sliding down onto his knees on the floor and waiting for Gunner to toddle over to him.

The boy stopped in front of him. He tilted his head slightly - which was all Fiona - then gazed up at him curiously and babbled.

Dean was officially in love.

"Gunner?" Fiona called softly.

He startled slightly at the sound of his mother's voice, placing a hand on Dean's chest to steady himself before quickly looking over his shoulder at her.

"This is your Daddy," she said, pointing to Dean and smiling. "Can you say Daddy?"

Gunner giggled and nodded slowly before looking up at Dean and saying, "Dadadadadadadada."

Dean didn't even bother trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks as he laughed. Sam sniffled loudly, evidently having a full-on estrogen-enriched joyful sob-fest behind him, but Dean didn't bust on him for it.

"That's right, Gunner. Daddy. I'm your Daddy," Dean said, and was blown away that this was really happening.

He watched in awe and wonder as the little boy took his amulet in his tiny fingers and studied it.

"You like that?" He asked.

Gunner gaped up at him for a moment before smiling, letting out a happy little grunt, and returning his attention to the amulet.

"Your Uncle Sammy gave that to me. Here, come meet him," Dean said, carefully lifting the child up and standing. He looked over at Sam's puffy, watery eyes and laughed heartily. He leaned closer to his son and said quietly, "_Might be more like 'Aunt Samantha' at the moment, but we'll let it slide, just this once, right?_"

Gunner smiled in response, enjoying Dean's attention as he continued tugging on the necklace.

Sam's eyes widened when Dean brought the baby over to him.

"Hey, Gunner!" He greeted with a face-splitting, dimpled smile. "Can I...?" He asked and held his hands up tentatively, not wanting to take the boy from Dean until his brother was ready for it.

Dean smirked. "Hell yeah. You're gonna be pulling shifts on diaper duty. You better get used to holding him," he teased.

Sam let out an amazed sigh as he took Gunner in his arms. Gunner frowned as the amulet slipped from his grasp.

"_Wow_...look at _you_, buddy!" Sam breathed in awe as he studied Gunner's features. "You are your Dad all over, you know that? Unreal..."

Dean laughed when Gunner abruptly turned in Sam's arms and snagged his necklace, tugging on it and refusing to let go.

"Hey! Get your own, small-fry. Tell your Uncle to go find a toddler-sized Samulet," Dean joked.

Fiona had to sit down at the sight of the three of them in that moment. The relief she felt was so overwhelming, it made it hard to breathe. She clutched her chest as tears of joy flooded her cheeks.

Frank cast her a worried glance, getting ready to climb from his chair and go to her.

She shook her head and held up a hand. The look she gave clearly pleaded, _For now, just let it be this. Let me have this_.

* * *

**A/N:** Thoughts? Comments? Love? Hate? Favorite part? Did anything make you LOL or hit you right in the feels? Looking forward to the next part? Want me to HURRY? haha Let me know! Reviews = Writing Fuel!


	10. As Brothers We Will Stand

"_And you are the mother  
__The mother of your baby child  
__The one to whom you gave life...  
_

_But you are not alone in this  
__And you are not alone in this  
__As brothers, we will stand  
__And we'll hold your hand  
__Hold your hand_."

- Timshel, Mumford and Sons

* * *

Half an hour later, Dean was sprawled on the floor laughing as Gunner squealed and growled and climbed all over him. It was truly astounding, the amount of toys the two of them had managed to spread across the carpet in that short time span.

Sam watched from a seat at the edge of the chaos, occasionally jumping in to help or play with his nephew. Mostly, he was content to just soak up the moment. He, for the life of him, could not recall a time when he had seen his brother even CLOSE to this level of happy, content, or _open_. It made his heart swell in his chest. It kept bringing tears of wonder to his eyes, despite his attempts to hold them back.

But there was something wrong with the picture.

Not the center of the attention - not Dean or Gunner. They were both ridiculously happy romping and rolling around, instantly hitting it off as if they'd each just met their best friend.

No, the problem was Frank and Fiona. It was the looks they kept sharing when they thought Sam and Dean wouldn't notice.

With practiced ease, Sam kept tabs on them in his peripheral vision. The more he observed, the more clear it became that Fiona was not well. Her skin was getting paler by the minute. Despite the genuine joyful smile on her lips, her skin now glistened with a sheen of sweat that made no sense, given the temperature and the fact that she was seated.

She was sick. Or in a great deal of pain. Or both. And whatever was going on, she was trying to keep it quiet in front of him and Dean. He noticed Frank giving her purposeful looks, likely trying to get her to tell him how she was doing. She kept shaking her head in reply, desperate to keep her attention focused solely on Dean and Gunner.

Sam swallowed hard as a growing sense of dread gripped him. He watched his brother and nephew, how happy they were together in that moment. He had the terrible feeling that it was fleeting. It always was in their world.

When Fiona abruptly stood and announced that she was going to put on a pot of coffee, Sam gave her a one-minute head start. He didn't bother offering an explanation to Dean when he stood to follow her out of the room. He figured nothing short of an emergency was going to draw his brother's attention away from baby Gunner.

Frank caught Sam's arm as he walked past. He met Sam's gaze purposefully and...pleadingly?...before nodding and motioning for him to go after her.

It didn't take Sam long to find her, thanks to the acoustics of the old masonry building. He could hear the pained sounds she was making, no matter how hard she tried to muffle them. When he turned the corner, he found her gripping the kitchen counter and struggling to stay upright. He arrived just in time to see her legs start to give out beneath her.

"Fiona!" He cried worriedly and rushed forward to steady her. "Here, sit down."

She gave little resistance, leaning against him heavily as he guided her to a chair.

"What's wrong? How are you hurt?"

She shook her head, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "_Badly_. But keep your voice down."

"Keep my-?" Sam stared at her in disbelief. "Fine, whatever. Just let me help you," he urged quietly.

Heat was rolling off of her in waves. He didn't need a thermometer to confirm the severity of her fever. Her skin was burning up.

"It doesn't look like there is any way to help, Sam," she admitted and motioned to her back, clueing him in to the source of the problem. She caught his gaze purposefully before she warned, "Do not touch my blood. Any of it. Do you understand?"

Sam frowned and nodded his agreement.

Satisfied that he understood, she sat forward rigidly. She hissed and winced in pain as he pushed the fabric of her shirt upward to reveal the thick gauze pads on her back. As carefully and gently as possible, Sam removed the dressings and medical tape from her skin. She watched him over her shoulder, saw the horror in his expression when he finally got a clear view of the wound.

"_Jesus_..." was all he could manage before he put a trembling hand over his mouth.

A pair of deep puncture wounds - each the breadth of two fingers - was set into the flesh of her back. A roadmap of blackened blood vessels and red, angry streaks of infection raced outward in all directions from the site of the wound.

"Is _this_...?" He tried as he met her gaze.

"A bite," she confirmed.

"You need to get to a hospital, Fiona. This is..."

"Fatal?" She prompted with a sad smile. "I know. But I can't leave. Curse, remember? Besides, we're well stocked. It's just that there isn't anything to be done for it."

Sam's worried features tensed even further and he glanced over his shoulder, obviously preparing to call out to his brother.

Fiona put her hand on his arm. "Hey. It's okay. I'm not going to die any minute. I've got about a week left, according to what we've read. The venom works slowly, but it spreads fast. That's why I warned you about my blood. This isn't a normal snake bite. It turns everything toxic."

"Why... why didn't you say anything?" Sam stammered. "Why didn't you tell Dean the minute we got here?"

Pulling her shirt down carefully to cover the bite, she sighed. "I found out I was pregnant almost 2 years ago, Sam. I've been waiting all that time to tell him about Gunner. I had no idea I'd be lucky enough to see this."

It was settling in now, the reality of the situation, and Sam suddenly felt sick. He slowly sank down into the chair beside her.

"You were trying to get Dad here for Gunner. To convince him to bring Dean after you..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

His brows drew together as his eyes welled with sympathetic tears. It felt like he'd been punched in the stomach - going from the high of learning about his nephew to the low of learning Fiona's approaching fate. He couldn't even imagine how his brother would take this.

"I didn't dare to hope that I'd get to see them meet. Or that Dean would be so thrilled. I'm just... I'm not ready to give up this moment yet. You can understand that, can't you?" She pleaded.

Sam struggled to get his brain to start working again. The hunter in him demanded action. The part of his mind that sounded eerily like his Dad was barking orders, calling out the names of texts that could offer information.

"What did it? The bite?" Sam asked.

"A chimera."

His eyes widened as he tried in vain for a moment to repeat the word. "A chi-? You were attacked by a _chimera_? In Nebraska? How are you even alive? Where the hell did it come from?"

"Best guess is somebody summoned it for a spell, but with our curse starting back up, it must have just made a b-line for our house." She swallowed back a sob, looking down at her hands as she said softly, "It came after Gunner, Sam. We were getting ready for bed and it was just _there_... right in the doorway staring at him, getting ready to attack. I couldn't outrun it. I couldn't fight it. Thank God, I managed to grab Gunner before it did. All I could think to do was get under the bed and cover him up - just shield him from it, you know? That's when it used it's tail and got me. Then Frank came in and scared it off, and we came straight here as fast as we could."

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

"We'll find something to help you," he declared. "There has to be a-"

Fiona gripped his hand, meeting his eyes determinedly. "You and Dean have to focus on a way to get rid of our curse, Sam. For Gunner. He's all that matters. You have to promise me that you'll find a way to help him. Please don't let him grow up in here. I don't have a lot of time left, and I don't expect any miracles for me. Gunner is alive and safe. I'd die for that any day."

Sam's eyes immediately filled with tears in response to her words. _A mother's love and sacrifice_... He wondered whether his Mom would have said the same about him.

"Sammy?"

Fiona and Sam startled at the sound of Dean's hoarse voice from the doorway.

Seeing the sorrow in his eyes, Sam didn't have to wonder whether Dean had been listening in.

Fiona tried to sit up straighter, to appear well despite her pain and fever, despite the poison in her blood that was killing her a little more with every beat of her heart.

"Can you...?" Dean asked his brother, but he didn't need to finish the sentence.

Sam stood and walked to the door, giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze before he left.

Dean approached slowly, his legs feeling leaded. He sank down into the chair beside her and studied her face. His nostrils flared and jaw trembled terribly. He clenched it in an attempt to stave off emotion.

"How much did you hear?" Fiona whispered, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Most of it," Dean answered. "How long?"

"Maybe a week?" She offered.

Dean's breathing quickened at that confirmation and he closed his eyes. "And you...? You never...? You never wanted me to stay away?" He asked in uncertainty, desperate to establish where he stood.

Fiona laughed at the possibility of such a thing and met his eyes, tears rushing down her cheeks suddenly as she shook her head. "God, never, Dean. _Never_. Not for one second. I've missed you so much," she sobbed.

That was all he needed to hear.

He pulled her into his lap, careful not to hurt her back as he wrapped her up in his arms. She buried her face against his chest and held on tight as she cried. Dean allowed himself to weep with her for a moment, for the time they'd been robbed of and all that she'd endured alone.

"I missed you, too, Fi. So bad," he assured brokenly.

He brought his lips close to hers, desperate to kiss her after so long apart, but she pulled away.

"Can't, Dean," she whimpered. "I have no idea what this venom is capable of. I can't risk it killing you, too."

"It already _is_," Dean choked out.

He rolled his forehead against hers, running his hands through her hair in desperation as more tears rolled down his face. Even with her right here, right under his fingertips, he still couldn't have her. She was slipping through his grasp.

"I'm gonna fix this. I swear to God. It never should have happened in the first place. I should have-"

"Should have what?" She asked with a sniffle and a weak smile. "You didn't even know. This isn't your fault, Dean."

"I can't let you die, Fi. I can't let Gunner lose his _Mom_," he choked back a sob at that. Struggling to hold it together, he gritted his teeth and nodded to himself in determination. "We'll find a way."

"Dean, you have to stop the curse. You have to-"

"And I'll do that, too," Dean declared fiercely. "But first, I _am_ going to save the life of the mother of my child, the girl I happen to be in love with."

Fiona's eyes widened in surprise before her face crumpled into tears. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry this is happening. I'm sorry I listened to your Dad. I was just so afraid that-"

"I know, sweetheart. I know," he soothed, pressing reassuring kisses to her cheeks and brow.

"I love you, Dean," she sniffled. "Please...just...promise you won't leave me again before I go?"

Dean closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth at that request. He nuzzled his face in her hair, pressing kisses to her temple instead of responding.

* * *

**A/N: **Dun, dun, duuunnnn... Well, what are you thinking and feeling right now? Did any parts in particular hit you harder than others? Can you picture everything? Tell me all about your feels *_pulls up a chair_* I looovvee reading them! Let me know if you want more :)

And thank you so much to all you lovely reviewers! I seriously post a lot faster when I hear from readers, so keep posting those reviews!

**A/N2:** The inspiration for this entire story came from me listening to 'Timshel' by Mumford and Sons shortly after watching an early S2 episode of Supernatural.

"_And death is at your doorstep  
And it will steal your innocence  
But it will not steal your substan__ce_..."


	11. Family

It took some serious convincing, but Dean managed to get Fiona to lie down on the couch and rest. Going to sleep in her bedroom was out of the question, apparently, because she was not willing to miss a moment now that Dean was finally here. It went unsaid, but he knew that she did not want to be away from their son, either, when her time was running so short. He saw the way she was watching Gunner, the agony in her eyes that she would soon be leaving him behind.

Using every trick in the book to keep himself from falling apart, Dean set her up the best he could on the couch, using pillows to prop her up in a position that wouldn't put pressure on her wounds.

She smiled up at him gratefully and he stroked her hair with a shaky hand. Despite the brave front she was trying to keep up, she was growing paler by the minute. Her condition was worsening right before his eyes. He saw the way her hands gripped the blanket periodically, the way her breath caught. She was in a great deal of pain, but she was trying her best to hide it, not wanting to upset any of them with an added reminder of her impending fate.

Dean's heart was shattering anew, made worse by the fact that he could barely touch her to offer comfort. As her condition worsened, she became even more cautious - even more determined not to put any of them at risk. She wouldn't even allow him to kiss her forehead any more, just in case her sweat contained enough of the venom to harm him.

He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles, closing his eyes and willing her to understand every bit of what he felt for her. When he looked up into her eyes again, he found affection and heartache that matched his own. She nodded slightly, an unspoken, '_I know, Dean_.'

He stood and cleared his throat, saying that he had to make a call. He walked as far away as possible while still remaining in the same area of the warehouse and in Fiona's line of sight.

He turned his back, not wanting her to see just how desperately he was fighting to keep it together. With tear-blurred vision and trembling fingers, he scrolled through his contacts and called the only person he could rely on to help them.

"Yello," the familiar, comfortingly-gruff voice answered on the second ring.

"Bobby," Dean breathed into the phone, fighting to keep the emotion from his voice.

But Bobby knew Dean well enough to catch it. He was instantly on his feet with his heart in his throat.

"What's happened?" He asked.

"I..." Dean started to lose it in response to Bobby's heartfelt concern. He held the phone away from his face, choking back the sob that was trying to break free. Once he was sure he could speak, he brought the phone back to his ear. "I need you," he managed brokenly through gritted teeth.

"Well, you got me, kid," Bobby assured. "You know that. Just tell me what to do and I'm on it."

"I need a cure for a chimera bite."

"Sam?" Bobby breathed fearfully.

"No...not Sam. Fiona. And, Bobby? She...she had a baby..._my_ baby."

Bobby fell back into his chair heavily at that.

"_Shit_." He breathed with wide eyes, pulling his hat off his head and readjusting it as the shock settled in. "How old? She wasn't still pregnant when she got bit, was she?"

"No - he's a little over a year. She just got bit yesterday."

"Well, thank God for that, at least," Bobby sighed, incredibly relieved that the child..._Dean's_ child...was unharmed. He knew they had a major problem at hand to focus on, but he couldn't fight his curiosity and excitement. "So, this kid of yours...he got a name?"

"Gunner," Dean said with a tearful smile as he turned and watched the boy in the distance sitting in his high hair and being fed by Frank. "And he's _so_ damned perfect, Bobby. I can't even..." He shook his head, unable to find adequate words to describe his son.

"Lord help us all, another Winchester boy runnin' round in the world," Bobby declared, but the smile on his lips was plain to hear.

Dean sniffled and chuckled through his tears.

"You said she got bit yesterday, how bad is it so far?" Bobby asked worriedly.

Dean winced and looked down at the floor, kicking a piece of gravel and trying not to completely lose it. "Bad. She's in a lot of pain. Fever's crazy high. But they read that the venom takes about a week to..." he trailed off and shook his head as he swallowed hard. "I can't let her die, Bobby. I can't let Gunner lose his Mom. Please...just..."

"I'm already on it," Bobby said as he started making a list of every book he could think of to check out. "You boys with her and Frank at their warehouse?"

"You been here?"

"Nope, but I know right where they're at. Been shipping stuff back and forth with them for years. Lemme dig in here and I'll call you back shortly," he said before pausing in his writing. He repositioned the phone closer to his mouth, adding gently, "And Dean? We'll figure this thing out. Don't you worry. You just focus on keeping her comfortable and treating the symptoms best you can. Get to know that boy of yours. Call me if anything changes before you hear back from me. Got it?"

Dean nodded and gritted his teeth, tears running down his face at the small measure of comfort Bobby's reassurance provided.

"Yeah," he choked out. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Bobby," he managed before ending the call.

He drew in a shaky breath and stared out the barred-up window in the distance. Evening sunlight gave the thick, frosted glass a warm glow, and it looked like a bit like distant hope.

He gave himself a moment to just let the tears flow, to ache and fear and beg whatever power was listening to help them out here. He wasn't one for prayer, as a rule, but it was worth a shot.

_Please_...became the mantra in his mind. _Please_ let her get through this. _Please_ let her be okay. _Please_ don't let her die. _Please_ don't let me lose her when I just got her back. _Please_ let her stay with me. _Please_ let her stay with _us_.

**-SPN-**

Just as Frank apparently had after she was bitten, Dean insisted they give Fiona IV fluids to keep her hydrated and a strong dose of antibiotics on the off-chance it might help. He urged her to take fever reducers, but Frank commented quietly that they hadn't helped so far.

Refusing to be disheartened, Dean continued his efforts. He used gloves while cleaning out the bite wound, fighting back his growing terror when he first saw it. The pained look Sam shot him when he removed the bandage told him that it had gotten worse in the past few hours. The area around the bite was swollen now, the blackened blood vessels and lines of infection spreading outward to cover her entire back and sides.

He fought to keep his emotions in check as he flushed the punctures with holy water. Couldn't hurt, and he was willing to try just about anything at this point.

Fiona went along with his attempts to help, though he could see in her weary eyes that she thought it was an exercise in futility.

An hour later, Dean was seated on the couch with Fiona's head resting on his thigh. She had fought him about it at first, but finally gave in when he agreed to drape a thick towel over his jeans. It wasn't overkill. The way she was sweating now, she'd have soaked through the denim inside of five minutes.

She whimpered as she shifted restlessly, struggling to find a comfortable position as her muscles cramped. At a loss for how to soothe her, Dean played with the ends of her hair, careful not to touch the damp tresses near her scalp, and hummed Metallica quietly.

She smiled with her eyes closed and nuzzled closer.

"I remember that," she sighed. "When I wouldn't go into the bathroom without you outside the door humming."

Dean smirked. "Had to do something to get you to take a shower. You were the dirtiest I'd ever seen a little kid get in my life."

Her smile faded as her tired eyes opened and focused on Gunner, who was currently across the room, sound asleep on Sam's chest.

"Dean?" She whispered. "Make sure he gets dirty. Let him have fun and make as much noise as he wants. I know it'll be hard...but I want him to be a kid for as long as he can."

He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"Don't talk like that, Fi," he pleaded hoarsely.

"_Dean_." She pressed determinedly.

Closing his eyes and choosing his words carefully, he answered, "If I ever lose you...which I have no intention of doing...then yes, I swear I'll give him the best childhood possible."

She nodded and closed her eyes. After a moment, she whispered brokenly, "I've missed you. And now you're here and I can't even..."

She gritted her teeth as she cried.

Dean had never felt so helpless in his life.

"It's still only you," she went on with a pained smile. "Never had anybody else. Never wanted anybody else."

"_God_, Fi," he sighed, barely able to breathe past the need to hold her. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I missed you so bad... Broke my heart when I thought you shut me out. All I wanted was to get back to you."

"You mean it?" She asked with a weak smile.

Dean stared down at her in disbelief. "Sweetheart, _of course_, I mean it. I never wanted to leave to begin with. And I swear to you, if I hadn't thought you were with somebody else and happy, I never would have stayed away."

"As if I ever could have been happy with somebody else after having you?" She laughed softly. "It's all my fault, you know? All of this. The time we lost - it's on me," she sighed in frustration. "I should have known what your Dad would do. I should have waited to tell you myself. But I was just so... happy and scared and excited and terrified... And all I could think was I had to get that message to you..." she managed before her physical pain intensified abruptly.

Her features tensed and brows drew together. Desperate to help, Dean used the sleeve of his shirt as a barrier and gripped her hand in his, offering a small measure of comfort as she tried to work through the pain. She gasped and held on tightly to his hand, turning her face against the towel on his leg and muffling a whimper.

"It's okay, baby girl...I've got you. It's gonna pass soon, just hang in there, okay? We're gonna fix this," he rambled. Once she was finally able to look up at him again, her gave her a heartbroken but reassuring smile. "It's not your fault, sweetheart," he assured with a shake of his head. "I was stupid enough to listen to him, and I knew him a hell of a lot better than you," he said bitterly.

She sighed wearily, gazing up at him from beneath heavy eyelids. "I still wonder what would have happened if I hadn't told him that day," she admitted in a fragile whisper. "Used to daydream about it all the time. Imagined you coming here and finding out I was pregnant, being here with me through it all. Hurt so much not to have you here..."

"I wish I'd been here, too. Would've been awesome to watch you waddling around with a great, big belly, growing my baby inside you," he admitted, grinning ear to ear at the mental image.

Fiona laughed, breathing heavily and wheezing a bit now. She was barely able to keep her eyes open. Her words become gradually harder to understand. "...have videos. When I was pregnant...when I delivered him...all his little moments... Didn't want you to miss a thing. Frank...show you later. 'm'tired..."

Dean's lips trembled as tears filled his eyes once more. She was getting so much weaker. It seemed to take all of her energy just to speak.

"Rest, baby girl," he whispered. He leaned down, bringing his lips within an inch of her brow and kissing nothing but the devastating space between them.

He lost track of time as he sat there, staring off into space and occasionally meeting Sam's sympathetic gaze while mother and son slept.

Hours passed in silence, aside from Fiona's pained whimpers and wheezing, which was growing steadily worse.

Frank walked through at such regular intervals, it was obvious that he was pacing the entire building.

When Dean's phone finally rang, he was equal parts relieved and fearful when Fiona didn't stir. Gunner, on the other hand, popped right up and stared down at his new Uncle Sam with a big grin, raring to play again.

Dean chuckled at the anxiety in his brother's face before answering the phone.

"Bobby, you find anything?" He asked hopefully.

"Not yet, kid, but I got a ton for us to read," he assured. "Brought some herbs, too. And the ingredients for a few spells we can try."

Dean's brows drew together in confusion before he caught on.

"Wait...you're _here_?" He asked, not even attempting to mask his relief.

"Damned straight, I'm here. What? You think I was just gonna leave you to deal with this mess on your own?" He asked gruffly, despite the smile on his lips. "Only a four hour drive from my place. Figured with Sam's help, I'd get through these texts a hell of a lot faster."

Frank rushed in then, casting Dean a worried look. "There's a truck outside. Friend of yours, or should I start shooting?"

"Well, nice to know you fit in so well with the in-laws," Bobby grumbled upon hearing Frank.

"It's Bobby. And he ain't a friend. He's family," Dean corrected purposefully.

Bobby's heart clenched at Dean's words, but knowing the Winchester-code, instead of acknowledging the importance of the moment, he cleared his throat and groused, "You tell that mean bastard to come open the garage door for me. I got about eighty books in the bed of my truck and any one of'em is worth more than this whole damned building."

"Let him in, he brought stuff that might help," Dean said and motioned down to Fiona.

Frank's eyes widened hopefully. Without another word, he rushed from the room.

"He'll be there in a second. See you soon."

Hanging up the phone, he sighed and stroked Fiona's hair. He watched her for a moment before the sounds of Sam and Gunner over at the changing table drew his attention.

"Oh..._Oohhh_ that is a nasty diaper, dude!" Sam cried in astonishment, gagging and waving his hand back and forth in an attempt to air out the stench.

Gunner squealed in delight at Sam's over-dramatics. He kicked his feet happily, grabbing onto his toes as he babbled up at him.

"Not cool, saving that up for your Uncle Sam," Sam informed his nephew as he pulled at least a half dozen wipes from the container. "We talked about this, didn't we? You were supposed to make Daddy change one of these first."

Dean laughed at the two of them, thankful for the momentary distraction from his fear and dread.

* * *

**A/N: **What do you think? Hate? Love? Want more? Let me know! Reviews = writing fuel! The more feedback I get, the faster I write. ;)


	12. Ties that Bind

Bobby entered the room and Dean made no effort to contain his tearful smile and sigh of relief.

"Frank's offloading the books," Bobby offered as he approached the couch slowly.

In response to the unfamiliar voice, Fiona stirred. She opened her eyes and looked up at Dean for assurance that everything was okay.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted quietly. "Bobby's here to help."

She nodded slightly and turned to look over at the new face.

"And this pretty little thing must be Fiona," Bobby greeted before taking off his hat and crouching down in front of her.

The girl was visibly suffering and severely ill from the venom, but he could still tell she was a stunner. He took in the way Dean was guarding over her, the adoration in his gaze when he looked down at her, and the barely concealed panicked fear dancing in his eyes over her current condition. While Bobby was extremely surprised by how young she appeared to be, it was plain to see that Dean was head over heels for the girl.

"Wrangled yourself a Winchester, I see," Bobby joked, but it was obviously true. Dean was hooked. "Means you're either somethin' real special, or ya ain't the brightest crayon in the box."

Dean smirked appreciatively as Bobby's words put an exhausted but genuine smile on Fiona's face.

"Heard you squared off against a chimera, girl. Not a lot of people've done that and lived to tell the tale," Bobby declared.

"Doesn't look like I will, either," she replied weakly.

"Well, that's why I'm here. Gotta help these two chuckleheads find a way to patch you up, get you better so you can look after that rugrat of yours," he said with a smile. "Speaking of, where's the youngin'?"

"Sammy's got him," Dean answered wearily. "Just took him for a walk. Should be back in a minute - they're sorta doing laps."

Bobby nodded before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling free a small glass bottle.

"Brought this to try first," he said, holding it up for inspection.

The brown, sludgy contents slid slowly along the inside of the glass.

Dean curled his lip.

"Mixed it myself," Bobby explained. "Got the ingredients and instructions from an old Apache medicine-man. Probably gonna taste like refried ass, but it's potent stuff. Should help slow things down a bit."

Fiona winced at the warning, but upon seeing the hope in Dean's eyes, she grudgingly nodded that she would give it a try.

Dean helped to steady her hand as she brought the bottle to her lips. When the mixture hit her tongue, she fought back the strong desire to gag.

"Take it quick now, like a shot," Bobby instructed.

Once Fiona managed to swallow the mixture, she replied, "_Ugh_...I've never taken a shot."

Bobby arched a disapproving brow over at Dean, who avoided his gaze at all costs. Bobby was very clearly asking, '_Just how old is this girl, Dean? Since when are you knocking up high-schoolers_?'

Thankfully, Gunner entered at that moment, saving his father from a lengthy, awkward conversation.

"Does he ever stop?" Sam asked Fiona in exasperation as he followed along closely behind his toddling nephew.

Fiona smiled adoringly at her son. "Not until he passes out." She turned her head and looked up at Dean. "Why don't you go introduce Gunner to Bobby?"

Dean's expression conveyed how torn he was - between the joy and longing to show off his son and the paralyzing fear of leaving her side even for a moment.

"I'm not going anywhere yet, I promise," she offered with a tired smile.

Dean sighed at that and kissed the back of her hand again, using it as a poor-substitute for the kisses he so desperately wanted to give.

She laughed lightly at the attention, the slightest shadow of a blush coloring her too-pale cheeks in response.

Dean's heart simultaneously ached and swelled at the sight. He had to save her. He just had to. Not only because she was the Mother of his child. Not only because it was the right thing to do. But also, because she was still the sweetest, most radiant thing he'd ever seen in his life. He was crazy for this girl, no matter the odd details of their original pairing. It was so much more than he was prepared for. She didn't just turn him on, she made him smile - really, genuinely smile when their eyes met. He couldn't lose her. He _refused_ to lose her.

As carefully as possible, Dean slid his legs from beneath Fiona's head. Bobby moved to help, sliding in a pillow to keep her propped up comfortably.

Once Dean was standing, Gunner's eyes were instantly on him. The boy grinned and squealed happily before toddling over. He stopped in front of Dean and stretched his arms above his head, grunting and saying, "Dadadadadada!"

Dean chuckled and lifted the boy up, relieved that he hadn't already been forgotten. He hated that he was leaving Gunner to the care of his Uncles so soon after meeting him, but Fiona needed him more at the moment.

"Hey, little man," he greeted and kissed the side of the boy's head. "You been driving your Uncle Sammy crazy?"

Gunner turned and pointed at Sam, smiling and saying, "Smee."

"Uncle _Sam_," Sam corrected hopefully, but he knew there was no use. Dean called him Sammy, and Gunner was going to follow his father's lead.

"Smee. SMEEEEEE!" Gunner squealed.

"That's right. _Sam__**my**_," Dean answered with a self-satisfied grin.

Gunner laughed and clapped for himself, proud of the new name he had learned and the grin he had put on his father's face.

"And this is Bobby," Dean said. He turned toward the elder hunter and found tears in the man's eyes. "You getting choked up on me, old man?" He teased with a chuckle.

"Nah, it's just this dusty warehouse air, is all," Bobby lied with a grin before holding out his hands. "Now quit jawin' and lemme see that rugrat."

Dean handed Gunner over and watched in wonder as the two stared at one another. He recalled the few bright spots of his childhood after he lost his Mom - the rare opportunities he got to just be a kid and have fun. They were almost all with Bobby. Playing catch and going to an amusement park, staying up all night playing hide and seek with Sammy, learning to fish... He smiled fondly at the memories and hoped Gunner would get to have similar experiences with the man.

"My God...look at this little Dean..." Bobby breathed, recalling those very same memories. He marveled that he was now holding the boy's _boy _in his arms.

Gunner grinned up at the new face. He ran his fingers experimentally over Bobby's coarse beard before reaching up and grabbing the tattered brim of his hat.

"It's very nice to meet you, Gunner. I'm Bobby, and if you're anything like the rest of your kin, I'm the one you're gonna call when the solid waste hits the rotating blades," he teased with a warm smile. "You should probably practice it now. Can you say, '_Bobby'_? As in, '_I need an alibi, Bobby_'?"

Dean reached a decision in his mind in that moment, and the words were tumbling from his lips without hesitation. "How about '_I need an alibi, Grandpa_'?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam smile at him in that adoring little brother way (that Dean secretly cherished).

Bobby looked over at him in astonishment.

Dean shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of how this would be received. "There's an opening...if you're interested."

A smile slowly spread across Bobby's lips. He looked back at Gunner in an attempt to hide his tearful eyes.

"I think 'Pop-pop' will work for me," he declared hoarsely.

"Pop!" Gunner repeated immediately, latching onto the simple and fun-sounding word. "Pop! Pop! Pop!"

"That's right," Bobby chuckled and nodded. "_Man_, ain't you a talker? Gonna be just like your Daddy in that, huh? Lovin' to hear yourself speak?"

Gunner giggled and nodded back slowly and deliberately, clearly still working on the coordination the action required.

Holding the little boy as if it were second-nature, Bobby turned his attention to Sam and laid out the plan for their research efforts. When Dean tried to figure out how he could help them, Bobby shook his head.

"It's alright. We can manage this part," Bobby assured. Dean's jaw tightened disappovingly, so he added, "Ya can't be in two places at once, kid. Between the three of us, we can look after the boy and hit the books. You just focus on taking care of Fiona."

Dean's brows drew together, his features betraying a brief, open glimpse of his current level of overwhelming fear and heartbreak before he managed to mask it again.

Bobby put his hand on Dean's shoulder and gave him a reassuring look, knowing better than to try anything more by way of comfort - _especially_ not while in view of Fiona and Gunner. He knew without question that Dean wished to appear unflinchingly strong in their eyes, no matter how ridiculous that expectation was given the circumstances. Besides, hugging (unless directly following a near-death experience) went against Winchester-code. And Dean - despite how close he currently was to breaking down - had been conditioned by John to accept such tiny morsels of comfort as being all he should expect or allow. Though Bobby could plainly see how desperately Dean needed more, Dean merely leaned into the tight grip on his shoulder and grudgingly nodded his assent.

Once the others had left, Dean returned to his post at Fiona's side. With a considerable effort, he managed to plaster on a cheeky smile and tease, "Alone at last..."

She gave a whisper of a laugh in response.

* * *

**A/N:** "Feed me, Seymour!" :) Feedback = my writing fuel. Could you see everything as you read it? Was everyone in character? Were tissues needed at any point? If you're thirsty for more, please let me know. Thank you sooooooooooooooo much to the amazingly awesome reviewers. You make me grin and give me inspiration to keep updating regularly! Without you, this plot-bunny would just sit around, collecting dust.


	13. Heart

Several hours passed and Dean struggled to keep his rising panic under control. Bobby's medicine had given Fiona a brief respite from the pain, but the venom proved to be stronger.

She was getting so much worse now. The only mercy was that she seemed to no longer have pain at the site of the punctures. Unfortunately, that was due to her entire back being completely numb.

The vomiting and bleeding had started unexpectedly just an hour prior. The sight of that very first red-stained tear sliding down her pale face had shaken Dean to the core. She could no longer open her eyes properly, and when she did try, he could tell she had great difficulty focusing.

Then the seizures came.

Dean held her steady as her body convulsed. In an ill-advised and frantic attempt to prevent her from biting or swallowing her tongue, he slid the flat leather sheath of his bowie knife between her teeth. He whispered every desperate, pointless, nonsensical reassurance he could think of as he tried to keep her (as well as himself) calm until each one passed. It had been almost ten minutes since the last seizure, but Dean was still very much on edge.

He could hear the muffled voices of Bobby, Sam, and Frank, along with the babbling of his son from a room not too far way. It helped to soothe his nerves somewhat, knowing that he was not alone in this. He sent texts to Sam about each new symptom to make sure they were aware of Fiona's worsening condition and to see if they could offer any suggestions. Also, because he really needed the reassurance of Sam's responses (even if he did find out from his egghead little brother that the whole shoving-something-into-a-seizure-patient's-mouth thing was no longer recommended).

The downside to being nearby the others was hearing Gunner call for Fiona. His son's first hopeful beckoning for '_Mom?_' had been like a dull knife through Dean's heart. It turned his blood to ice in his veins. And it had only been the beginning.

Despite Frank, Sam, and Bobby's attempts to distract him, once Gunner realized that his mother was not responding, he became steadily more desperate for her. Dean tried to comfort Fiona, but he knew it was no use. He could imagine no crueler torture than what she was enduring - suffering unimaginably from the venom and left to weep that she could not answer her baby's pleas.

Thankfully, after almost a hour, Gunner had succumbed to his Uncle Frank's combination of walking, rocking, and deep, rumbling humming and finally passed out.

Long after Gunner's cries had stopped, they echoed through his family's hearts and minds. The air remained heavy with anxiety and sorrow.

With a gloved hand, Dean used a cool, damp cloth to wipe the blood-tinged sweat from Fiona's face and neck. It wasn't much. It certainly wasn't making her better. But it was _something_, a small comfort he could provide to keep them connected.

She winced and whimpered as her muscles cramped and spasmed. She shifted her body fitfully in a desperate attempt to ease the pain. When the cramping let up, she leaned into his touch and wept quietly.

"Shhh...it's okay, Fi," Dean soothed, though it really wasn't. Not at all. "We're gonna figure something out. Gonna make you better. You'll see. Please, just hang in there for me, sweetheart."

"I don't want to die, Dean," she confessed tearfully.

"Good thing, 'cause I ain't letting you," he replied with a forced smile.

She laughed at that, despite her pain, and gazed up at him in wonder, struggling to focus on his face.

"God, you're still so good looking," she sighed. A second later, she squeezed her eyes shut and gasped as her muscles locked up. "I wish I could have kissed you again," she managed in a whimper.

"You will, baby girl. And so much more," he insisted anxiously. "We got a lot of time to make up for, you and me... But you gotta get better first, okay? I _promise_, I will make it worth the effort."

"I have no doubt you would," she laughed weakly. "But... fighting it isn't helping. Dean, I... Oh, God...I don't want to leave my baby!" She sobbed desperately, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the sorrow and pain. "Promise me you'll look after Gunner. Promise you'll take care of him."

"Always," Dean swore brokenly before begging, "Please don't leave me, Fi. Please?"

"..._love...don't...want._.." she whispered as her body gradually relaxed.

Dean's eyes widened in horror as her breathing slowed and grew shallow.

"Fi?" He called, holding his breath as he waited for a reply.

With each passing second, his panic grew.

"FI?" He shook her shoulders lightly, watching for even a hint of movement.

Nothing came.

"No..." he gasped as the agonizingly familiar sensation of loss settled onto his broken heart. "_Oh, no, no, no, no, no_..." he pleaded, terrified to believe what he was witnessing as she slipped away. "FI! Come on, wake up, baby girl. Please! Just look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes. _FIONA!"_

He had just started to lose it - just let loose the first mindless sob as he slipped over the edge into grief - when his shoulders were grabbed and he was pulled roughly from the couch.

"Step back, boy!" Bobby shouted, shoving his way in front of him and frantically rattling off the unfamiliar words of a spell.

Dean instinctively fought against Frank's iron-grip, barely registering that her brother had been the one to pull him away. He watched in confusion as Bobby smeared a thick red substance across Fiona's forehead.

Thunder crashed outside and the entire building seemed to quake in response.

Fiona's body seized up then, drawing a loud, deep breath - seemingly of its own accord - before collapsing again.

The room descended to silence, everyone staring, completely stunned, at Fiona's motionless form.

"What was that?" Dean asked, watching her with wide, fearful eyes as Frank released him.

"Apache," Bobby replied simply, though he knew that's not what Dean was asking.

"What the hell did you just _**do**_ to her?" Dean demanded as he rounded on him.

Bobby winced when he saw the blind rage in Dean's gaze, watched it rattling its way through Dean's muscles, his entire body trembling with the singular need to defend Fiona from anything - any_one_ who might be a threat to her safety. Bobby had seen this particular wild look before, though he'd never been on the receiving end of it. Every time Sammy was in trouble, this side of Dean came out. It trumped any fury a Mama bear ever displayed in defense of a cub. Bobby could see the kid had it _bad_ for this girl, regardless of the age difference. Love was the only thing that could put this particular red-hot, glowing rage into the elder Winchester's eyes.

"_Easy_, Dean," Frank urged, taking a step closer in Bobby's defense.

Dean leveled the same glare at Frank in response.

Sam approached cautiously with his very tired and confused nephew in his arms. He set Gunner down in the play-pen, preparing to intervene just in case Dean lost control of his temper. He knew that Dean wasn't in the right state of mind. It had been almost two days since his brother had slept and, considering everything he'd been hit with in that time...? Well, even Dean had a limit.

Frank gave Dean a incredulous look, pointing to each of them in turn as he spoke. "You really think _Bobby_ would've put her in danger? You think _I'd_ help him do something to hurt my baby sister? Look, I get that you're scared of losing her. TRUST ME, I get it - it scares the shit outta me, too. But _you_ had _better_ get your damned head straight, man." His tone was even and calm, but the warning came through loud and clear.

Frank's words seemed to cool Dean's temper slightly, but not completely. He turned his attention back to Bobby, still waiting for an answer to his question.

"I just...put her to sleep, so to speak," Bobby offered gently as he sank down onto one of the chairs.

Dean dropped to his knees beside the couch and frantically checked Fiona's pulse and respirations. "She's barely breathing!" He shouted in panic.

"Yeah? Well, last I checked, '_barely' _was better than '_ain't_'," Bobby countered before sighing and adding, "She ain't dead yet, kid. That was a spell to stop things in their tracks. She's just sorta...suspended for now. Not gettin' better, but not gettin' worse, either. Oughta buy us a little more time."

Dean closed his eyes. He fought to slow his thundering heart and clear the red from his vision. _She was still alive...they had a little more time to work with.._.

"How long?" He asked in a strained voice.

"A day? Two maybe?" Bobby offered with a shrug. "This ain't exactly my realm of expertise, ya know? Usin' spells instead of stoppin'em. But...desperate times and all that."

"Why is this happening so damned _fast_?" Dean demanded angrily, using his trembling fingers to carefully brush aside a strand of hair from Fiona's sweaty brow. His fury was desperately seeking a target. As if it was someone's fault - someone he could beat into submission in order to save her. "I thought she said it was supposed to take a week before the venom was fatal!"

"Guessin' she didn't read the part about most of that week bein' spent in a coma," Bobby commented quietly. "I figured it might be coming - 's why I got that spell ready to try. Figured if she was gonna be unconscious any way, might as well prevent the damage from spreading any further."

The sound of Sam's phone receiving a message saved Bobby from Dean's response.

"Ash just emailed me," Sam announced as he scanned the message.

In response to Dean's curious look, Bobby offered, "Need all the help we can get. Sam called Ellen a few hours ago."

Dean's nostrils flared as he scowled over at Sam.

Knowing exactly what was putting the gleam of rage-enshrouded terror in Dean's eyes, Sam spoke up quickly.

"I didn't tell them anything. Not about the Davies' curse. Not about you and Fiona. _Definitely_ not about Gunner. I just said we needed help with a chimera bite," Sam insisted and added gently, "No hunters. I know, okay?"

Dean exhaled slowly at that and nodded, relieved that he didn't have to add another worry to the growing list. Finding a way to save the Mother of his child, in addition to protecting Fiona, Gunner, and Frank from every kind of supernatural threat until they could break the curse, was enough to deal with. If he had to worry about a band of rogue hunters showing up, too...? He knew he'd give his last breath to the effort, but there was only so much he could do.

"Ash translated a text from Ancient Greek," Sam offered. "It looks like there's an anti-venom."

"Anti-venom?" Dean repeated with a furrowed brow. "Don't they generally require a batch of _venom_ to work with? Where the hell are we gonna come up with chimera venom?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, dude, but it's something. And...not just any chimera, by the way," he added reluctantly. "It has to be venom from the one that bit her."

Dean blinked a few times, then turned and looked over at Frank, asking deadpan, "Did he leave his number with you? Can we call the ugly bastard and ask him to swing by?"

Frank snorted in response.

"Might have an answer to that..." Sam offered. "This says chimera track their prey indefinitely once they bite. Probably why the venom spreads the way it does - makes it easier to catch the scent once it hits the sweat glands."

"So, you think...?" Dean asked, his brows raising in surprise.

"It's stickin' around, close by," Sam agreed.

Dean took a deep breath, grateful for something to focus his rage on. "Then we're going to hunt ourselves a chimera. About fucking time," he declared.

"It'll be tracking Fiona. Her scent'll bring it running wherever we want it to go," Bobby said.

Dean's jaw flexed and his shoulders tensed in response. "She's staying put, right here, where she's safe."

With a sigh, Bobby said, "We can use her _sweat_, ya idjit." He motioned over to the towels beneath her on the couch before giving Dean a disbelieving look. "You ain't gonna be no use to any of us if you don't pull your head outta your ass," he chided. "Nobody here's gonna let anything happen to that girl, if we can help it. Nobody's gonna put her in danger and nobody's gonna do anything without your knowledge. What the hell's got you all worked up where she's concerned, anyway?" He asked before adding determinedly, "And, you just _know_ I gotta ask, what the _hell_ led to you messin' around with a teenager in the first place?"

Dean's eyes practically glowed with rage before he ground out, "I'm gonna go get the bags ready."

After taking one final devastated look at Fiona, another at his son, he turned and stalked out of the room.

Bobby arched a brow at his retreating form and winced when a door in the distance was slammed.

"What's all that about?" He muttered.

Sam and Frank exchanged a look.

Catching it, Bobby asked angrily, "Someone want to bring me up to speed here?"

* * *

**A/N:** Time to share those feels, ladies and gents! Let me know what you think so far. Hate it? Love it? Favorite part? Can you see it as you read it? Want more?


	14. Home

"If he weren't already dead, I'd go find your Daddy and shoot him myself," Bobby declared from the door.

Dean paused in his work loading weapons into the duffel. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Who spilled?" Dean asked knowingly.

"Both of'em sang like damned canaries," Bobby said with a sad smile as he approached. "But, after hearin' all that, I guess I can understand your paranoia now."

Dean grunted his agreement.

Bobby shook his head and thought through everything he had been told. Knowing Dean as well as he did, he knew full well how much he was hurting.

Beneath all that rage and distrust, a tender heart was broken. Iron-clad loyalty had been sliced to the bone by the blades of his father's betrayal. A little boy who desperately missed having a normal, happy, and complete family had been handed the possibility to have it all back...only to now face losing it again. A new father was dealing with the fear of failing his son. Fear that - as Dean himself once had as a child - Gunner would look up at his father and wonder, '_Why couldn't you save her? Why didn't you try just a little harder? Didn't you love her enough_?'

"Jesus, I'm sorry, kid," Bobby offered sincerely and, since no one else was in the room, decided 'to hell with the rules.' Gripping Dean by the shoulder, he pulled him into a tight hug.

As with any time Bobby broke the code, Dean seemed shocked by the gesture. He stood rigidly for several seconds before gradually relaxing and accepting the comfort, even going so far as to return the embrace.

"You know we're gonna do everything..." Bobby began, tightening his hold as he stressed, "..._everything_ we can to get her better. You two didn't deserve the hand you were dealt. And since ya both seem to have fallen all over one another in the process, it's only fair ya should get the chance to have a family together. We'll figure it out, Dean."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean choked out hoarsely.

After another long moment, he pulled away and wiped his face, hoping to hide any evidence of the tears that had managed to fall. He lifted the duffles and put them in the back seat of the Impala before following Bobby back to where the others waited.

Once they were back in the room where Sam and Frank stood (avoiding Dean's accusatory glares at all costs), Bobby spoke up.

"Now, I know you just armed yourself to the teeth, but do we got any idea what can actually bring this thing down?" Bobby asked with an arched brow.

Dean shrugged. Loading the bags had really just been an excuse to walk away from them.

"Was planning on using a little bit of everything," he admitted with a cocky smile that failed to reach his eyes.

"Not sure if it'll take the bastard out, but it did _not_ like consecrated iron rounds in its ass, I can tell you that much," Frank offered.

"Did you notice anything else when you fought it? Anything that might help us?" Sam asked hopefully.

Frank thought about it for a moment, replaying the memory in his mind. "Seemed repelled by a flower Fiona had in her room. The vase was knocked over onto the floor next to the bed and the big bastard wouldn't step over it to reach her. Screamed when it touched it. Probably the only reason Fiona and Gunner are still alive, now that I think about it. If it had used its claws instead of its tail..." He shuddered at the thought. "But shit, I ain't got a clue what kind of flower it was."

"Can you describe it?" Sam pressed.

Frank gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah. A _flower_."

"Anything else, smart-ass?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"A white flower?" Frank offered in frustration. "Look, I don't pay attention to that shit, dude. Home décor is really more of Fiona's thing."

"'_Décor_', huh?" Bobby repeated skeptically. He gave a disapproving grunt before declaring out of the side of his mouth, "From the sounds of it, whatever your sister had in there was chosen for _function_ rather than style."

He sighed as his gaze fell on Fiona's prone form. They would not be getting any answers from her on the subject.

"Looks like you boys are going on a field trip," Bobby informed Dean and Sam. " 's the only way we're gonna find out what hurt this thing."

**- SPN - **

The brothers entered the house cautiously, guns drawn and readied on the off-chance the chimera had come back.

Dean tried not to be distracted by the place itself - by the warm colors of the walls and comfortable-looking furnishings, the way everything had been set up and decorated with such obvious care. It was just such a..._home_. Inviting and warm with photos on the walls and books on the shelves.

His son had spent nearly the entirety of his life in this place, only to be driven out when a monster came calling. It hit Dean hard in the heart that his son had suffered such a similar fate to his own. And now? Gunner was on the verge of losing his Mother, too.

They made quick work of securing the ground floor and basement before moving up the stairs. It was even harder for Dean to stay focused when they reached the bedrooms.

Frank's room was amusing, at least. There were the obligatory posters on the walls of kick ass bands, motorcycles, and hot chicks in string bikinis. Dirty laundry was piled up on the floor in the corner _next to_ the hamper (which Fiona had likely put in there and begged him to use). The shelves and desk were covered in manuals for classic automobiles, as well as a collection of every gun and blade magazine money could buy. A partially reassembled carburetor was sitting on the nightstand as if it were Frank's equivalent of bedtime reading.

It was the quintessential man cave. Dean smiled that, even though he hadn't been here, Gunner hadn't been lacking a strong male role model in his life to counter the soft femininity of Fiona.

Gunner's room was tough to face. It was painfully perfect - everything a little boy's nursery should be. The crib was handmade and beautifully carved; likely a labor of love from Mitch or Frank. The walls were a soft, sky blue - making Dean smile lightly that it was the exact shade of the bra and panties Fiona had worn when Gunner was conceived.

Every toy and book and linen was neatly put away in its rightful place...except for in the path of destruction running right down the room's center.

Sam came into the room behind him and stilled upon seeing the evidence of the attack.

Dean's stomach tied itself in knots as he followed the trail and read the story it told.

He could see the precise spot the chimera had sprung from when Fiona grabbed their son and ran. The claw marks where it had shoved off with its hind legs and pulled forward with its massive front paws went clear through the carpeting and padding. The floorboards beneath had been splintered and pulled up, telling him very clearly just how much sheer power and muscle mass this beast possessed, as well as how sharp its claws were.

The doorway through the adjoining bathroom was broken apart on each side, giving Dean a vivid mental image of the chimera's girth. Tiles from the bathroom floor were torn up every few feet, pulled free and shattered by racing claws and showing him the length of the beast's gait.

The door into Fiona's room was decimated - apparently slammed shut by Fiona in an effort to gain additional time to flee. It hadn't been enough. Judging by the fractured wood of the doorframe and the way the hinges were bent outward, the beast had barely slowed its pursuit.

Fiona's room was the hardest to see. The colors were light and cool, the entire feel of the room bringing to mind foolishly hopeful visions of lazy Sunday mornings together in bed, kissing and tumbling beneath the covers with morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Dean recalled the sight of her face hovering just a few inches above his own, her hair hanging down around him like a curtain as she gazed lovingly into his eyes. He could feel her sweet kisses, hear her soft laughter.

Dean swallowed with considerable difficulty past the lump in his throat.

Somehow, despite the rest of the room showing evidence of the chimera's attack, a photo of Dean remained upright on the night table. It was faded and wrinkled inside its frame. He knew that it had been given to Fiona by his father. He glared at the image of himself, standing there, smiling and leaning against the side of the Impala like he was having the time of his life. Smiling out from that frame while Fiona and his son were nearly torn to shreds just a few feet away...

With a furious growl, he grabbed the frame and threw it against the far wall, shattering the glass on impact.

Sam watched sympathetically. A million words of comfort died on his tongue as his brother gripped the back of his head and fought to keep it together. Sam knew nothing he could say would make this right. Nothing short of killing this creature and saving Fiona was going to help Dean.

So, that's exactly what Sam focused on, instead of useless reassurances. Taking a deep, determined breath, he walked to the side of the bed where the vase had fallen. He crouched down to inspect the flowers, frowning thoughtfully as he tried to identify them.

Dean approached slowly and stood behind him, watching as Sam took a few pictures of the flower and its leaves. He held his breath, hoping that his brother's giant, book-wormy brain would produce an answer.

"It looks like Hawthorn," Sam announced as he stood.

Dean's shoulders slouched slightly as he exhaled in relief. It took all of his strength not to hug his overgrown geek of a baby brother. Yet again, he marveled at the vast wealth of random trivia swirling around inside Sammy's skull.

Oblivious to the fact that Dean was having an internal 'bro-ment', Sam went on.

"I think it's also called...Crataegus...something..." he said, frowning deeply as he scanned his memories. "I remember reading somewhere that it was used for protection against evil spirits. I wonder..." he trailed off as he tried to think of the best places to look for information. "There's a computer down in the living room. I'm gonna go see if I can get on the internet while we're here. If we can confirm what this flower is, maybe we can find more of it before we head back to the building."

Dean nodded and turned his attention back to the nursery. "Sounds like a plan. I'll go grab the stuff for Gunner."

With the sound of his brother's retreating footsteps behind him, Dean pulled from his pocket the scribbled list that Frank had provided. It contained descriptions of a few of Gunner's favorite items - things that Frank hoped might bring the boy a measure of comfort.

Thinking back to when he had lost his own Mother, Dean recalled that he had not found an ounce of solace in familiar objects (at least, not in any of the very few that survived the fire). But Sammy had been younger than Dean - just a little younger than Gunner was now - and he had calmed considerably after Dean found his stuffed stegosaurus in the Impala.

Deciding that it was more than worth the effort if there was any possibility of comforting his son, Dean located each item. With great care, he placed them into his bag. There was something equal parts fundamentally wrong and achingly familiar about placing teddy bears and pacifiers alongside shotguns and knives.

Once he was finished, he shouldered his bag and made his way downstairs.

"There are more of those flowers in Gunner's nursery," he announced as he entered the living room. "They're still in the vase, though. Guess the chimera just can't handle coming in direct contact with the stuff."

"Or crossing it once it's been laid down. I mean, it didn't even try to go around it," Sam offered. He was seated at the computer desk, busily typing and clicking away.

"Find anything useful?" Dean asked hopefully. He set his duffle down on the couch and turned his attention to the photos on the walls in an attempt to busy himself. He smiled at the images he found. Most contained Gunner at various stages of his first year - playing, eating, standing, taking his first step... Just generally being the most awesome thing that Dean had ever laid eyes upon.

"It's definitely Hawthorn," Sam answered. "The Romans used it to ward off evil spirits. They put the leaves in their babies' cribs to protect them."

"And we're betting that little trick is just one more thing the Romans got from the Greeks?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

Sam's brows rose in unison that his brother was unintentionally admitting to knowledge of ancient cultures. He shook his head and smirked. Dean was definitely a deep well.

"Um, yeah," Sam answered, struggling to keep his smile from his voice. "Considering the fact that it worked against a monster straight out of Greek mythology, I'd say it's a safe bet."

"Any idea where we can find the stuff locally?" Dean asked.

"Working on that...right...now..." Sam answered distractedly, his tone conveying that he was in the middle of reading something.

Dean glanced back at his brother before a photo at the far end of the wall drew his eye. He moved to get a better look at it.

In the picture, Fiona was sitting on an expanse of well-landscaped grass, bathed in sunlight and looking positively gorgeous. Her hair was blowing in a light breeze and a joyful smile was lighting up her face. She'd been caught mid-laugh and her cheeks had just a hint of Dean's favorite blush. Gunner was sitting in her lap, wrapped up in her arms, giggling and smiling just as beautifully as his mother.

Without hesitation, Dean lifted the frame from the wall and opened the back. He pulled the photo free and set the empty frame aside. Tracing his fingertip lightly over the image, he smiled down at it for a moment before carefully folding and tucking it into his wallet. He tried not to think about the fact that Fiona was currently at death's door. Or the fact that he was placing the photo of her and Gunner alongside the photo of himself with his own Mother, alongside the photo of his Dad. He fought back the sensation of his wallet becoming a graveyard, of Fiona's photo being just another private headstone for him to visit.

He turned around just in time to see Sam quickly avert his eyes. He chuckled quietly and nodded in appreciation. It seemed Sammy was going to let this one slide, was just going to pretend he had not seen his big brother having a sentimental moment.

"I'm not seeing any local florists that carry Hawthorn," Sam announced once his eyes were firmly locked on the computer screen again. "Well, at least not any that have it listed on their websites."

"Guess we're doing some legwork then," Dean sighed and walked over to the window, pushing aside the curtains to get a look at the backyard.

"I've got a list of places we can check. Just let me print it out and we'll get-" Sam answered, but frowned when Dean started laughing. "What's funny?" He asked as he climbed to his feet.

Dean motioned outside the window and held the curtains back for his brother.

"Good thing we checked here first," Dean said.

Sam's eyes widened when he spotted the numerous hawthorn shrubs in the garden.

"Well...that'll save us some time," Sam declared.

* * *

**A.N.:** Sorry for the delay on this one! Real life demanded my undivided attention for a while, but I am so glad you're still following along :D What do you think so far? Love? Hate? Still looking forward to reading more? Let me know! Feedback = writing fuel!


	15. Teardrop

"_Mama_," Gunner whimpered from his hiding place beneath Dean's chin.

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Mama's sleeping, little man," he offered quietly.

They had been over this no less than twenty times during Dean's efforts to get the boy to fall asleep. At least Gunner had finally stopped wailing.

Dean kissed the top of his son's head. He shifted the boy in his arms, getting him more comfortable and rubbing his tiny back as he rocked him.

They were sitting together in a room at the highest point of the warehouse. The space had been warded so heavily, the very air felt thicker. For what was to come, everyone had agreed it was best to have the boy and his Mother in an even more secure and defendable location.

Dean looked over to the bed where Fiona remained stone-still. He ached to be able to walk over to her and kiss her awake, to run his hands through her hair and watch those beautiful, bright eyes open. But that wasn't possible.

Soon enough, he would be facing off against the chimera and giving his all to the effort to save Fiona. The others were downstairs making preparations. Dean had taken the opportunity to spend some time alone with his son.

"_Guh-guh nigh...goo mmmm... k's k's Mama k's...mm-mm-Mama mm-k's_," Gunner whined. He sniffled and trembled in Dean's arms, watching his Mother longingly.

Dean leaned back and looked down at the boy. He sighed in frustration. He felt like a failure as a father already because, no matter how hard he tried, he just could not decipher Gunner's babbles.

"I'm sorry, Gunner," he answered sincerely. "I don't know what you're saying, buddy. Maybe your Uncle Frank could-"

Gunner looked up at his father with renewed determination. "_K's_ Mama. Mama..._k's_... _k's_... Kiss..."

Dean's eyes widened in a combination of pride that his son was trying to speak and heartache over what he was saying.

"You want to give your Mama a kiss good night?" He asked sympathetically.

Gunner nodded slowly and looked up at him pleadingly.

"Me, too, buddy." Dean sighed and ran his hand over the boy's soft hair. "Me, too... But we can't touch her. I wish we could, but we can't."

Disliking this response, Gunner stuck out his bottom lip.

Dean tensed up, knowing that look already.

"Oh, no. Come on, Gunner. It's okay," he soothed frantically.

Gunner's body quaked as he drew in a long, silent gasp of air, filling his lungs in preparation for the sobbing to come. His eyes immediately filled with tears. His little chin quivered, adding to his already heartbreaking appearance. His face grew red as he let out the first of what promised to be another lengthy round of cries.

"Aww, don't do that, little man. Please?" Dean begged, desperately trying to find a way to calm the boy. (He had _just_ gotten him settled down!) "How about... Umm... How about we... Uh... _Oh!_" His eyes widened hopefully as it hit him. "Can you blow kisses?" He asked eagerly over Gunner's sobs. "Huh? Do you know how to do that yet? Here, look. It's easy. Like this, buddy. Watch Daddy."

With deliberate and exaggerated movements, Dean pressed a loud kiss to his fingers and pretended to blow it to Fiona.

Gunner immediately stopped crying. He tilted his head slightly and gazed up at his father through a fan of long, wet eyelashes.

Dean sighed in relief at the averted meltdown and chuckled in response to the boy's curious stare. The flare of intelligence and rapt attention he found in his son's gaze was eerily familiar. He tapped the end of the boy's nose before informing him, "You know, your Uncle Sammy gets that same look in his eye. All right, here we go. Watch Daddy..."

He repeated the steps for blowing kisses several times.

Gunner moved closer to watch in fascination, intent on learning the gesture. After a moment, he leaned down to Dean's hand, thinking it had to be done that way. Dean smiled as the boy pressed a wet, clumsy kiss to his calloused fingers. When Gunner was satisfied with the kiss he'd given, he looked up at his father expectantly.

"Good job, buddy. That's a good kiss. It's, you know, a little _drool-y_...but I'm sure your Mama will forgive you for that. Okay, now you gotta blow it to her. Like this. See?" He instructed, leaning down and blowing the kiss to Fiona.

Gunner watched with wide eyes for several seconds before leaning forward, attempting to mimic his father's actions. He was nowhere near as graceful, however, and the result was a very loud, very wet raspberry pressed to Dean's fingers.

"Wow. That is a _lot_ of drool," Dean laughed. He moved to wipe his hand on his jeans, but stopped when Gunner frowned disapprovingly. Dean immediately held up the hand in surrender. "Right. No. I get it. This is baby-love-drool right here. My bad. I'll keep it."

Gunner grinned and nodded approvingly.

Dean leaned closer to the boy, this time taking one of Gunner's tiny hands and pressing it to his perpetually leaking mouth. (And Dean suddenly understood why Frank was always walking around with a cloth draped over his shoulder.) Dean made loud, smacking kisses with his mouth until Gunner followed his example, kissing his own hand.

"And now you blow it... Go ahead. Blow like this," Dean instructed and watched in amazement as the boy followed his lead. "Great job, buddy! You did it!" He cheered and laughed at the giant, open-mouthed grin Gunner gave in reply.

His son clapped for himself and Dean joined in the applause.

"Okay. Mama has her kisses good night. I'm sure she'll sleep much better now," Dean assured and looked over at Fiona.

His smile slowly faded as he once again took in her diminished appearance. In the light of this room, he could see even more clearly just how terribly ill she was. Her skin was nearly grey and there were deep, dark circles around her eyes. Those things, paired with the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest, made for a gut-wrenching sight.

Dean let out a long sigh and drew his son closer to his chest, settling back into the rocking chair again.

"I'm gonna fix this, Gunner. I'm gonna do everything I possibly can to make this right. I promise, buddy," he whispered as he pressed kisses to the top of his son's head.

Gunner let out a long yawn and Dean peered down at him hopefully.

"Getting sleepy finally, little guy?" He looked around the room for a book or magazine or _something_ to read, but came up with nothing. "Crap. No bedtime stories around." He smirked to himself before saying, "I could tell you some of _my_ stories, buuuut your Mama probably wouldn't be too happy about that when she wakes up. Hmm..."

He thought back to his own childhood, how his Mother had soothed him, how he had followed her example to soothe Sammy after her passing. Just the idea of actually doing it now, with his own son, tugged at his heartstrings. The song had always felt sacred to him, like a message from his Mother that he carried in his heart. He never failed to hear meaning in the lyrics beyond and differing from what he heard the time before.

This time was no different.

With his son curled up on his chest, leaning closer to the rumbling of his voice, he slowly and quietly sang the achingly familiar song.

"Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better. Hey, Jude, don't be _afraid_..." His voice quavered slightly on the word.

He closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his jaw and holding back tears.

Gunner nuzzled closer, seeking more of the sound of his father's voice. He wrapped his little arms around Dean's neck and idly stroked the cord of his necklace.

Dean smiled tearfully. With a hand rubbing circles on Gunner's back, he watched Fiona's sleeping face and forced himself to continue.

"...you were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better. And anytime you feel the pain - hey, Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder. Nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah..."

Dean chuckled quietly to himself and shook his head, wondering if his Mother ever had the slightest idea of how appropriate this song would be for him.

"Hey, Jude, don't..._let me down_," he swallowed hard and, with a bit of effort, managed to keep going. "You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better..."

Dean quirked an eyebrow when his son chose that moment to let out an adorably loud snore next to his ear. With a laugh, he kissed the boy's cheek and looked skyward.

"_I hear you, Mom_," he whispered as he held his son tight. "_I hear you_."

**-SPN-**

Twenty minutes later, Gunner was sound asleep upstairs with his Mom. As Dean stood beside Frank at his work-bench, he was once again reminded of his own childhood. There, amidst bullets and rifles and weapons in various states of assembly, was the baby monitor.

Giving himself a mental shake, Dean cleared his throat and spoke.

"These the ones?" He asked, lifting a long, customized bullet from the box and peering at it curiously.

"Yeah. Made 70 rounds from the plants you guys brought back. 25 each for you and Sam. 10 each for me and Bobby to use while we're up in the crows-nest," Frank answered. "I put some of the petals and leaves in each of them. Wasn't sure which part of the plant would hurt it." He pointed to the clear side of the bullet. "The chamber there should survive the initial blast when they leave the gun. They're designed to shatter when the tip makes impact. Guess we'll find out shortly whether that actually works."

"Thank you. I'm overwhelmed with confidence now," Dean said with a fake smile.

Frank chuckled. "You'll be fine, buttercup," he assured with a wink.

"I asked you never to call me that in public," Dean gasped in feigned embarrassment.

Sam snorted.

Bobby scowled back and forth between the two of them. "You boys done flirting, or do you need some privacy?"

Frank chuckled and shook his head.

"So, what's Plan B then?" Sam asked. "In case these things don't work as expected?"

"Yeah, 'cause, with our luck, that's pretty damned likely," Dean added.

"The rest of the casing there is consecrated iron," Frank pointed out. "Told you - that part I tested myself. Chimera? Not a fan of consecrated iron-" he began, but stopped when Dean cut in.

"-rounds in its ass," Dean finished. "Yeah. Right, I remember."

"Probably gonna like one in its heart even less," Frank offered with a shrug.

"And if that don't work, we'll hit it with everything we've got till you boys get back inside," Bobby said. "Then we'll figure out another approach."

The group descended into silence for several moments while everyone finished getting ready. Dean and Sam took their allotted ammo and headed out to the Impala.

"So, you ready for this?" Sam asked as Dean loaded his guns with the Hawthorn ammo.

"Ready for what? Using flower-bullets to fight a Greek mythological creature in a Nebraska parking lot? Sure. Just another day in the lives of the Winchesters," Dean answered dryly.

Sam laughed in response as Dean closed the trunk of the Impala. He started to walk away, but stopped when he noticed that his older brother had stilled.

"Look, if anything goes wrong..." Dean began seriously, but Sam held up a hand.

"Nothing's gonna go wrong," Sam insisted.

"Shut up and listen, Sammy," Dean urged. "If something does go wrong, keep in mind what's most important. I'll give you a hint - it ain't helping me."

"Dean..." Sam growled.

"No," Dean cut him off determinedly. "Either you agree to this, or you can stay in here and Bobby will come out to fight this thing with me. I'm not playing around. If I go down and you've got a shot at this thing, you take it. You don't worry about me. Deal?"

Sam bit his lip, stubbornly refusing to respond.

"You grew up in this life with no Mom. We _both_ did," Dean reminded. "You think I want my son to grow up like us? We've got a shot here to spare Gunner from what we went through. If it comes down to a choice between Fiona or me? There's no contest. Gunner needs his Mom more."

Grudgingly, Sam nodded his ascent to his brother's wishes. He wasn't voicing it, though.

Dean smiled and clapped his brother on the back before shouldering his shotgun. "Good. Now, let's go gank this ugly bitch already."

* * *

**A/N:** Did everyone enjoy the feels-trip? Thoughts? Love? Hate? Could you see everything clearly? What hit you the most? Are you ready to go kill this thing with the boys?


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